


Ladies of the Ring: Two Towers

by Nelsynoo



Series: Ladies of the Ring [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Annamir and Nelwen have potty mouths, Epic Friendship, Excessive Swearing, Gen, Hints at romance, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, POV Multiple, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Poor Decision Making Skills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 23,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5104364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelsynoo/pseuds/Nelsynoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My best friend, Anna, and I were watching Lord of the Rings and decided that the Fellowship, while well meaning, is a bit of a flailing mess. We therefore came to the sound conclusion that had Elrond thought to invite Anna and I to Rivendell, we could have been rid of the Ring in only a couple of weeks and with minimal casualties.</p>
<p>This started as a joke between Anna and I but escalated into something epic. This is just self-indulgent, highly irreverent (but diligently researched!) silliness.</p>
<p>You should probably read <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5037655/chapters/11580388">Fellowship</a> before starting Two Towers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape into Fangorn

Strapped to the back of a hulking Uruk-hai, Nelwen vowed to never again make disparaging comments about the personal hygiene of her travelling companions. Choking on air, stale and rancid, Nelwen dreamed of soft breezes through the golden leaves of Lorien and tried to breath through her mouth. For days the beasts had travelled west, with her as captive, never stopping, not even to sleep or eat. It had been so long since Nel had eaten anything that her body was wracked with shivers and stabbing pain. Her arms were numb from where they were strapped around the neck of her captor and the skin on her left cheek was red and raw from where it had been rubbing against the Uruk-hai’s armoured back. 

The long column of Uruk-hai passed through a small gulley and, without warning, stopped. Nel strained to see what was happening, spied a small group of orcs emerge from the rocky walls of the ravine and approach the Uruk-hai. There had been a time when Nel found the orcs terrifying, now they seemed so small and scrawny in comparison to her captors, almost feeble. She could just make out a few snatched words as they talked. Something about a tree-rat (was that her?) and delivering Saruman’s prize.

So they were taking her to Isengard. Of course she’d guessed that that was their destination some time ago but her stomach flipped at the confirmation that she was indeed heading for Saruman. She took minor solace in the knowledge that the Ring was safe with her companions but that solace was largely over-shadowed by the gut-wrenching certainty that Saruman was going to kill her.

An Uruk-hai in her peripheral vision aggressively sniffed the air before barking, “man-flesh!” The horde of Uruk-hai bristled and rumbled at this announcement, hands reflexively twitching towards weapons. A large, long-haired Uruk-hai marched from the front of the column, their leader she supposed, and shouted, “they have picked up our trail! Let’s move!”

Nelwen felt a cautious fluttering of hope. The rangers were following! Maybe Annamir was not as inept at rangering as she had always assumed! Desperately, she looked around her, trying to spy some method for communicating with the humans, some way of showing them that she was still alive. Noticing the metallic glimmer at her throat, she bit down hard on the elven broach on her cloak, tugged it free and spat it onto the ground. It was a dainty thing, elegantly carved in silver and decorated with enamel of a vivid myrtle green. Hopefully it would be spotted, despite its diminutive size, and the humans would know that she still lived.

The Uruk-hai continued with their hurried march, fording across the Onodlo river and into West Emnet. As nighttime descended, the horde came to a stop at the edge of an ancient forest. Nelwen had fallen asleep as they travelled but was startled awake as she was unceremoniously shucked to the ground. Her head reeled, overwhelmed by her sudden awakening and the waves of pain that wracked her body from its abrupt introduction to the ground. As she rocked back and forth in pain, she thought back to the meeting in Elrond’s study all those months ago and wished above all else that she had told him to bugger off.

Distantly she could hear the whining of orcs, their shrill voices distinct from the low, echoing timbre of Uruk-hai voices. To her left stretched a dark curtain of trees and she watched as Uruk-hai lumbered forward to hack at the branches, gathering firewood no doubt. As their broad-swords tore branch from trunk, a muted keen, low and slow and roiling, rose into the night air. Nelwen’s head perked up with curiosity. _Interesting_. With her elven ears, she listened, listened to the sighs and whimpers, softly rumbling like a faraway storm, rising then ebbing in turn from the forest. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought that the rolling grumble sounded almost… conversational. This was no simple copse of trees, she realised; this was Fangorn.

An argument drew her from her reverie as a piercing, nasal voice lamented his lack of food. “I’m starving! We ain’t had nothing but maggoty bread for three days! Can’t we have some meat?!” Murmurs of assent rippled through the mass of orcs and Uruk-hai. “What about her? She’s fresh…” said a small, bug-eyed orc, tilting his head and regarding her greedily. She bristled, her fear of meeting Saruman immediately replaced with the more pressing fear of being gutted right here at the foot of the Fangorn forest. Suddenly all eyes were on her, the throng of orcs and Uruk-hai jostling one another to take a good look at the fresh meat at their disposal. The leader she had noted from before surged forward, standing between her and her audience. “She is not for eating!”

“What about her legs? She doesn’t need those… they look tasty…”

The leader took his broad-sword from his back, swept it in a wide arc in front of him as a warning. “Keep back! The prisoner goes to Saruman – alive and _unspoiled_.” 

“Alive! Why alive?!” came a disgruntled cry. Frustrated chatter heaved through the multitude, each body thrumming with irritation and defiance.

“She has something – an elvish weapon – the master wants it for the war.”

Nelwen started when an orc appeared from behind her, wrapped a knobbled hand around her collar. “Just a mouthful,” he said with yearning, a globule of spittle rolling down his chin and dripping on to her shoulder. “A bit off the flank.”

With two great bounds, the Uruk-hai leader stepped forward, pivoting his sword and decapitating the orc in one clear swoop.

“Tonight we dine on meat!” he announced gleefully, lifting the headless orc in one hand and throwing it towards his soldiers. They ripped into the carcass greedily, tearing meat from limbs and snorting at entrails. With horror she sat and watched as the Uruk-hai turned on the orcs among them, ripping them apart with bare hands, not even bothering to kill them before sinking their teeth into putrid flesh. 

For a moment Nel considered whether she felt sorry for the orcs as they were eaten alive by their kin. But the moment passed and Nel suddenly realised that no one was watching her, all attention drawn by the orc feast. Silently, she crawled across the ground towards the tree-line, her movements slow and clumsy due to her bindings. She’d managed to crawl a fair distance from her captors, was only a few metres from the edge of the forest, when a boot came down on her back, pinning her to the ground. Rough hands hauled her up, turned her over, and she found herself face-to-face with the ashen face of a gnarled, crooked orc. His small, curved dagger pressed at her neck.

“Go on – call for help! Squeal! No one is going to save you now.”

“Fuck off!” she snarled through gritted teeth, jabbing her fists into the orc’s throat. Clearly she’d spent too much time with Annamir and had adopted the ranger’s questionable vocabulary and penchant for fighting dirty. The orc choked and spluttered, giving Nelwen the opening she needed to grab hold of the dagger at her throat. She wrenched it free from shaking hands and stabbed it into his cheek, slicing upwards to leave the caricature of a grin on the side of his face. With a strangled snarl, he rolled off of her, clutching at his face with trembling hands, his whole body wracked with spasms of pain. She reared up, straddled the creature’s chest, and plunged the dagger into an eye socket, twisting the blade until his movements ceased, save the occasional involuntary twitch. 

Her front was soaked with orc blood; it coated the hilt of the dagger and squelched between her fingers as she cut through the rope binding her hands. Now that the adrenaline was subsiding, her hands began to tremble. Pulling herself to her feet and stumbling around the corpse she’d made, she was a little alarmed at her brutality. But she had no time to grapple with her conscience as her elven ears picked up the sound of hooves advancing, hundreds of creatures running at break-neck speed. She didn’t know whether Uruk-hai used mounts, whether reinforcements from Isengard were approaching. Or maybe it was humans riding near, although she didn’t know whether she, an elf in Rohan, would be well-received. Deciding that she’d rather not stand, alone and vulnerable, and find out, Nel made for the forest.

As she reached the tree-line and disappeared into the undergrowth, she heard behind her the sound of flying spears, the sound of clashing swords and the sound of iron-clad hooves trampling flesh. Beastly howls punctuated the night air. Whoever these riders were, they were slaughtering the pack of Uruk-hai. Good.


	2. The Riders of Rohan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, I don’t really like this section. It was hard to write. Apart from Annamir's snark - that was easy to write!

Aragorn lay with his ear to the ground. Annamir stood nearby, waiting impatiently and eying him sceptically. “Their pace has quickened; they must have caught our scent,” Aragorn murmured after a long pause, face drawn in concentration. Annamir rolled her eyes, debating whether she should be impressed or call bullshit. He sprung from the ground and started running westerly. “Hurry!” he called over this shoulder.

Annamir, with a weary sigh of resignation, ran after him.

For three days and night, the pair of rangers had pursued the Uruk-hai, with no sight of their quarry except what could be gleaned from the ground. Upon first leaving the woodland around Amon Hen, it had been easy to track them. Telltale footprints pocked the muddy ground and the trees were splintered and twisted where the marauding force had swept through. But the further from the Anduin valley they travelled, the harder the Uruk-hai came to track. The ground was drier here, firmer, and no footprints left their mark. Neither was there trampled underbrush to signal the Uruk-hai’s route. Instead, the wide plains of Rohan stretched before them, unending in their uniformity. The only indication that they were heading in the right direction was from Aragorn, who regularly pressed his ear to the ground before charging off with renewed vigour. Annamir suspected that he was making the whole thing up but hoped that, should they just continue travelling west, they would intercept the Uruk-hai en route to Saruman anyway.

Picking up her pace to catch up with Aragorn, she patted the pocket in which the Ring sat hidden. She had only carried the Ring for a few days but she was already finding its relentless chatter irritating. Like an uninvited dinner guest, it charmed and sneered. She desperately hoped they reached Nelwen soon, partly because she was concerned for her wellbeing (and she was) and partly so she could be rid of this burden.

Hurrying through a small ravine, Annamir’s attention was drawn by something twinkling in the dirt. Aragorn had charged past, clearly intent on his goal, but Annamir stopped to brush aside the earth and loose leaves to reveal the leaf-shaped broach underneath. “Not lightly do the leaves of Lorien fall,” she whispered to herself somewhat triumphantly. Aragorn, noticing that he was no longer being followed, turned to see why Annamir had stopped. She held up the broach and grinned; “she still lives!” she declared. He grinned back. This was the first sign of their friend since she’d been taken from them at Amon Hen and it gave their weary legs new strength as they darted through the undulating grasslands of Rohan.

For one more day and night they ran until, cresting a low ridge, they witnessed a band of men on horseback charging through the lowland. Annamir had spent little time in the Riddermark, knew little of its people, who was of sound character and who was best avoided. Watching the pack of riders, she decided a cautious approach was best and was about to vocalise her opinion to Aragorn when he stood, clearly not sharing her qualms. “Riders of Rohan,” Aragorn called, stepping out of his concealment among the rocky outcroppings, “what news from the Mark?” The flock of riders turned in unison, doubling back from their original course to encircle the two rangers. Annamir felt a twinge of anxiety on the back of her neck as she realised that she was surrounded on all sides by broad-chested men on horseback, all carrying spears and long-swords. This was not a particularly tactically advantageous position, her brain supplied unhelpfully. 

Faced with dozens of spears, Aragorn and Anna raised their hands in a placating gesture. A hush fell over the group and Annamir wondered whether she should offer some sort of greeting or whether she would just cause offence. Accepting the latter to be likely, she kept her tongue.

A rider came forward, the others parting for him. “What business does a Ranger from the north and a girl have in the Riddimark. Speak quickly!”

“Woman, not girl,” corrected Annamir snarkily, “and I’m on an important quest. He’s here for purely aesthetic purposes.” Annamir grinned; Aragorn rolled his eyes. “You’re curious as to our business? You tell me yours, horesemaster, and I’ll tell you mine.”

The rider dismounted from his steed and stalked towards Annamir. He towered above her small frame, peered down with a stare intended to intimidate. But Anna stood her ground, her impish grin turning into wicked smirk. She had roiled him and that pleased her. “I would cut off your head for such impudence, _girl_ , if only it stood a little higher from the ground,” he spat.

“I’m sorry to hear your height is such a hindrance to your sword-skills. It must be embarrassing for you that your attack reach is so limited.”

The rider stepped forward threateningly and Aragorn placed a hand on her shoulder, gave her a level stare in an effort to curtail her snark. “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and this is Annamir, daughter of Annamund and Ranger of Ithilien. We are friends of Rohan, and Theoden, your King.” Something in Aragorn’s words must have satisfied the horseman and the tension eased out of his bearing. The rider removed his helmet and gave a weary sigh, “Theoden no longer recognises friend from foe. Saruman has poisoned the mind of the King and taken control of these lands. My company is all that remains of those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished.” The assembled riders lowered their swords and spears, adopting a less threatening posture.

“The white wizard is cunning,” the horsemaster continued. “He has taken control of Rohan through words and manipulation. And everywhere his _spies_ slip past our nets.” He narrowed his eyes accusatorily at Anna.

“We are no spies,” assured Aragorn.

“If we are, we’re really shit ones,” added Anna “ _We_ called out to _you_ , if you recall.”

Aragorn ignored Anna’s sass and persevered in appealing to the Rohirrim, “we track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plains. They have taken a friend of ours captive.” 

“The Uruks are destroyed; we slaughtered them in the night.”

“Did you see an elf with them?” asked Annamir urgently, a knot of fear coiling in her stomach at the thought that they may be too late. “She’s abnormally short for an elf, she may have seemed a child to your eyes.”

“We left none alive,” was the solemn reply. Aragorn and Annamir looked at each other despondently. To survive in the company of Uruk-hai for so long only to be cut down by a company of humans, was a dismal trick of fate. “We piled their carcasses and burned them. I am sorry.”

The horsemaster gestured to the distance where tendrils of black smoke could be seen lazily meandering from behind a far-off hill. With a sharp whistle, the horseman called forward two horses. “May these horses bare you to better fortune than their former masters. Look for your friend. But do not trust to hope; it has forsaken these lands.” Having delivered his dark warning, the rider mounted his steed once more and replaced his helmet before bellowing to his men, “we ride North!”

Annamir and Aragorn watched the riders surge forward over the flats, stood motionless until the last figure had disappeared over a rocky crest. Faced with the prospect that Nelwen was already dead, the drive that had kept them running for four days and nights non-stop finally dissipated, leaving them bone-weary and dejected. After several minutes of stillness, Aragorn started towards the hill and the curling fingers of smoke. Wordlessly, Annamir followed, the weight of the Ring in her pocket feeling greater than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	3. An Elf Lay Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This section starts off boring but then gets fun at the end. I always thought that Aragorn’s “a hobbit lay here” spiel was total bullshit – and now Annamir does too (because this whole story is really just a way for me to make fun of what I think are the daft parts of LOTR).

The closer they got to the smoldering mound of carcasses, the more putrid the stench. Anna had always thought the smell of orcs to be the foulest thing she knew but nothing could have prepared her for the rancid, fetid, _clawing_ smell of the burning dead. As they approached the heap of scorched, splintered bodies, Annamir and Aragorn hurriedly dismounted, spreading out in order to survey the area. Annamir’s eyes roamed the pile of ashes, hoping above all hope that she wouldn’t see a trace of the elf, no snatch of her forest green leather, no glint of her golden earbobs. Aragorn stalked the field, stared reproachfully at an Uruk-hai head as it grinned at him languidly from atop a spike in the ground.

Growing up in Rivendell as he did, Aragorn had known Nelwen since childhood. While many of the elves were condescending and aloof, Nelwen had always treated him with warmth, initially, as she’d explained to him once, because she found his childish enthusiasm amusing. But as he grew, her fondness for him grew as well into a genuine friendship among equals, finding common ground as they did in their mutual love for history and nature. Aragorn had always found it frustrating that, even as a grown man, the elves treated him like a child, frequently patronising him and belittling his achievements. But at only 800 years old, Nelwen too was considered a child by many of her people and the two had developed a bond based on their mutual dislike of condescension.

At the summit of Amon Hen, he had told her that he would protect her, that he would walk by her side into the very fires of Mordor. He had made that promise not because she was the Ring Bearer, but because she was his _friend_. And now she was dead. With a mighty wail, Aragorn kicked a nearby helmet and fell to the ground. Annamir jumped at the uncharacteristic outburst and regarded him with pitying eyes as he thumped his fists into the dirt. “We failed her,” Annamir noted candidly.

He stared forlornly into the middle distance, eyes unfocused, and then suddenly cocked his head to the side like a confused dog. He shifted forward from where he knelt and ran his fingers across the dry grass and dirt.

“An elf lay here,” he said quietly, staring at the ground with such intensity, Annamir wondered whether he had gone mad. 

“She crawled,” he continued, rising from his knees and taking small steps across the field, back bowed as he surveyed the ground. “Her hands were bound.”

Annamir watched him sceptically as he moved. Dirt was dirt. And while under the right conditions one could track someone’s movements by the footprints they left in the earth, it was impossible to determine whether someone’s _hands were bound_ by merely looking at soil. Annamir came to the sound conclusion that Aragorn really had gone made.

“She crawled over here, she was followed, stopped,” he waved vaguely, “an altercation ensued.” 

“What?!” Anna could not contain her scepticism anymore. “How do you know there was an altercation?”

He gestured at a patch of dried orc blood, looked at her pointedly as if that was proof enough. Annamir squinted at him dubiously, the corner of her lip curling with incredulity; the field was littered with blood and general orc viscera, the riders of Rohan had been thorough in their slaughtering of the Uruk-hai forces. This little patch of dried blood proved nothing.

“She freed herself of her restraints,” he announced, lifting a curved orcish dagger and a small length of rope from the dried leaves. “The tracks lead away from the battle – into Fangorn forest.” He stood at the edge of the forest, looking at her triumphantly. Anna only looked at him with confusion and contempt, as if he’d sprouted a second head.

"No! Bullshit! You made all of that up!" she snapped, pent-up frustration finally spewing forth. “For _four days_ have I followed you, patiently waited while you listened to rocks and smelt the air and whatever other bullshit ‘tracking techniques’ you’ve come up with. But now my patience has waned and I’m not going to blindly follow you anymore just because you’ve looked at the ground and made up some compelling shit. How could you possibly know all that from looking at the _dirt_?”

“I’m a ranger.”

“So am I!!”

Aragorn arched one brow, “I’m a _good_ ranger.”

With a frustrated growl, Annamir threw herself at Aragorn, tackling him across his stomach and sending them both tumbling down a steep slope into Fangorn forest. When they finally stopped rolling, Annamir had him pinned to the ground and she punched him in the face, just as she had imagined doing countless times over the last few months. Her knuckles cracked and she knew her hand would be throbbing later but she was too satisfied to care. Aragorn cradled his now bloody nose with one hand while lashing out with the other, pushing her from astride his chest and sending her sprawling to the mud. She tried to get up but he pushed an elbow into her clavicle to pin her in place. Not one to be so easily bested, Anna lifted a leg and kneed him in the groin. With an undignified yelp, he rolled to the floor, swearing emphatically in elvish. She didn’t need to be fluent in Sindarin to gather his meaning and she smiled crookedly. Annamir had always excelled at a good brawl. 

She was about to bring her boot to meet Aragorn’s kneecap, just for good measure, when an angry voice shouted, “what the **_fuck_** are you doing?!”

Twisting, she looked over her shoulder to see Nelwen standing atop a nearby bluff, Gandalf towering behind her. Annamir was surprised, and oddly proud, of the elf’s uncharacteristic use of expletives. But mainly she was just relieved to see her alive, and with their wizard friend no less! With a hearty laugh (and, bloody hell, it felt good to laugh again) she skipped across the twisted roots of Fangorn forest and grabbed both figures in a vigorous embrace.

From somewhere behind her, Aragorn whimpered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	4. Fangorn Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note the cunning way I completely sidestep the fact that Gandalf is now miraculously Gandalf the White without dying.

Nelwen allowed herself a moment to enjoy Annamir’s embrace before disentangling herself and hurrying towards Aragorn’s prone form. She dabbed gingerly at his bloody nose with one hand while helping him upright with the other. Even as he winced in pain, he smiled at the sight of her, bringing up his hands to rest on her shoulders. “Nae saian luume,” he said warmly. “Oio naa elealla alasse,” she replied with a smile.

The smile was soon replaced with a scornful expression as she turned to look at Annamir, “I leave you two for _four days_ and you end up brawling like lusty teenagers! What the hell happened?!” 

“He made disparaging comments about my rangering skills,” was Anna’s petulant reply.

“ _Everyone_ makes disparaging comments about your rangering skills.”

“Yes but no one else was around.”

Aragorn hauled himself from the ground, carefully picked his way across the roots and fallen logs of the forest to join Gandalf and Annamir on the bluff, Nelwen following closely behind. As he approached, Annamir lifted herself to her full height, expecting, perhaps, another blow. Instead he shook her hand firmly. “Our emotions were running high. We thought you dead, Bell. It was a momentary frenzy, nothing more. No harm was done,” he gestured to his nose with his free hand, “no permanent harm anyway.” Annamir smiled, returning his handshake with gusto.

Nelwen surveyed the assembled group before her and smiled, “the fellowship is reunited. This is a fortuitous occasion.” For a moment the foursome regarded each other in companionable silence, reveling in the unexpected joy brought by their reunion. Only one month ago they had left Rivendell, an unlikely assemblage of friend and stranger. Brought together by tedium and terror, they were almost like family.

“Gandalf,” Annamir said, considering her friend with open curiosity, “you look different. What has happened?”

“Gandalf?” the wizard asked, as if surprised by the moniker, “yes, that is what they called me; Gandalf the Grey. That _was_ my name. _I_ am Gandalf _the White_.”

“I don’t understand,” said Nelwen.

“No, nor will you. Only know that I have been given renewed strength to fulfill my errand here on mortal lands.”

They all looked at each other with arched brows, somewhat dissatisfied with Gandalf’s cryptic answer. But they knew that there was little point in asking for more information and instead pressed him to know what business he had attended to in Fangorn forest.

“I have met with my friends, the Ents, shepherds of the forest. Saruman’s ambition devastates the land and I came here to spur the Ents into action. I believe I have succeeded; even now they have convened an Entmoot, a meetings of the Ents at Derndingle. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. This meeting will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains.”

“One thing has not changed, old friend,” chuckled Aragorn, “you still speak in riddles.”

Gandalf smiled, rested his hand momentarily on Aragorn’s forearm, before briskly marching into the forest. Startled, the rest of the fellowship followed. “I had hoped to attend this meeting, lend my voice to the debate, but your arrival draws my attention elsewhere. We must continue our path east, to Emyn Muil and then through the Nindalf to Mordor.”

“Wait!” called Annamir, “what about Edoras?”

“What about Edoras?” asked Gandalf, somewhat bemused as to what the capital of Rohan had to do with their quest to destroy the Ring.

“We hear of trouble in Rohan,” said Aragorn by way of explanation. “The King has fallen ill.”

“Yes, and it will not be easily cured,” replied Gandalf. “But the woes of Rohan do not concern us. We must continue with our quest without delay. We have already suffered a lengthy detour. The quicker the Ring is destroyed, the quicker all kingdoms of men will be made safe.” 

Anna bristled, dissatisfied with Gandalf’s answer. “The great war to end the age is beginning. If Saruman conquers Rohan, then Gondor will be alone with enemies on all sides. Defeat will be swift and brutal. How can we hope to cross into Mordor when our enemies grow in strength and number and our allies dwindle? We must head for Edoras, defeat whatever power deceives Theoden into hopeless impotence. Only by giving our strength to the Rohirrim will our path to Mordor be made clear.” 

Gandalf opened his mouth to speak, to press the urgency of their quest when Nelwen interrupted, “Annamir is right. We cannot leave this kingdom to languish and die! Otherwise we will share in Rohan’s downfall.” 

The wizard scrutinised Nelwen closely, his eyes flicking across her face as if skimming the pages of a book. She’d been subjected to his intense examination before, in Elrond’s study, when Gandalf had questioned her in order to determine her suitability as Ring Bearer. He’d agreed with her then; she hoped he would agree with her again. At length he sighed and shrugged, “the Ring Bearer has spoken. We make for Edoras.”

“Speaking of which,” said Annamir sheepishly, her hand making for the pouch on her belt, “I believe this is yours.” She pulled out the Ring on its gold chain, held it aloft for Nelwen to take. Gandalf looked at her with confusion and barely veiled consternation but said nothing; he would force Annamir to explain later. With a sad smile, Nelwen reclaimed the Ring, undid the clasp to affix the chain around her neck once more. It had been a merciful few days without it but the Ring was her responsibility to bear and she wasn’t going to shirk it, no matter how great the temptation. 

Tucking the Ring beneath her tunic and giving it a gentle pat, she raised her head to survey her friends, “to Edoras!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	5. Edoras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit dull but necessary. I researched horse breeds! Wanted to choose any appropriately sized horse for Annamir's tiny stature.

Riding across the Riddermark, the wooden city of Edoras rose before them. Built on a lone hill in Harrowdale, a valley of the White Mountains, Annamir could just make out the golden hall crowning the summit as they crossed the Snowbourn River. Gandalf led the fellowship, born on Shadowfax, the lord of all horses, followed by Aragorn atop a rust-coloured Thoroughbred, Nel on trusty Bill and, finally, Annamir astride a grey mottled Appaloosa. She had grown rather fond of the mare during their journey from Fangorn to the base of the Starkhorn Mountain; she was mild-mannered and built for endurance.

They entered the city without fanfare and rode up the winding road to the summit under the watchful gaze of the locals. It was not uncommon for Annamir to be observed with suspicion upon entering a new land, but the openly hostile gazes from the citizens of Edoras made her squirm in her saddle nonetheless.

When they finally reached the golden hall, Annamir swept her eyes over the grand building with admiration. The great wooden structure stood upon a green terrace, flanked on all sides by ancient Yew trees. The thick columns supporting the buttressed roof were intricately carved with swirling knotted patterns that curled around running wild horses and coats of arms. The carved pillars and panels were adorned with gilt, which, like the yellow straw roof, made the whole building shine with golden light. Banners of forest green, baring the prancing horse of Rohan, unfurled from tall flagpoles lining the front terrace.

As they approached the imposing doors to the golden hall, the Doorward of Theoden and Captain of the King’s Guard, Hama, strode through.

“I cannot allow you before Theoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame, by order of Grima Wormtongue.” His voice betrayed his obvious disdain when he spoke the name of Theoden’s advisor.

Gandalf frowned but nodded at his companions to acquiesce and they each in turn handed their weaponry to the assembled guards. Nelwen was particularly reluctant to part with her bow and the elven dagger that Annamir had retrieved from Amon Hen; she had learnt the hard way the penalty for being caught unarmed.

The inside of the golden hall was even grander than the outside, every inch of wood carved and painted in vibrant reds, golds and greens, and great tapestries adorning the wall behind Theoden’s throne. Flanking the centre of the room, mighty braziers lit the hall with leaping flames. As the fellowship marched down the centre of the long hall, Annamir could just about overhear Grima Wormtongue muttering into the ear of the grey-faced king, his voice simpering and weasel-y.

“The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessoned of late, Theoden King,” said Gandalf, his steady voice reverberating through the great feasting hall.

“Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?” rasped the king, frail and halting.

Stepping forward from the king’s side, his advisor, with sunken eyes overlooking a pinched face, meandered towards the approaching fellowship. “What brings you to this great hall at such a late hour? Your arrival is surely an ill portent.” Grima drew out every syllable as he spoke, accentuating each word as he performed gleefully to the assembled courtiers of the sickened king. “‘Lathspell’ I name you, ill-news and ill-guest.” 

“Be silent! Keep your foul tongue behind your teeth!” Gandalf commanded, a touch of magic adding force to his words. Grima’s face dropped. “I have not come to this hall of kings to bandy words with a witless worm.” He raised his staff and Grima leapt back in fear.

“Stop!” he pleaded to Gandalf, then reeled around the room to summon the aide of his guards, “I told you to take the wizard’s staff!”

Guards loyal to Grima, garbed in black rather than the green of Rohan’s court, stepped forward from the shadows at the edge of the hall, making to intercept the wizard. Annamir smiled. There were few things Anna enjoyed more than a bar-room brawl, one of them was a _throne-room_ brawl. She made the first move, tackling the guard closest to Gandalf and sending him tumbling to the stone floor with a muffled cry. He tried to extricate himself from her grasp but their limbs were too entangled. She reached out, held his head between both hands, and dashed his head upon the floor. When his body fell limp, she pulled herself up and surveyed the room for her next victim. Nearby, Aragorn punched a guard between the eyes with the heel of his hand. As the guard reeled with swimming vision, Aragorn stomped on his instep and kneed him in his solar plexus, stepping aside to let the man crumple to the floor unhindered. Nel, deigning the whole thing beneath her, ducked and side-stepped the guards’ clumsy attempts to assault her, letting them fall to the floor through their own misapplied strength.

“Theoden, son of Thengel,” boomed Gandalf’s voice, “too long has your mind been poisoned with wickedness. I release you from this spell!”

Theoden laughed, a wretched thing, hoarse and dry. “You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey.”

Gandalf stood his full height then, letting his mottled cloak fall to the floor to reveal the vestments of shining white underneath. No more Gandalf Greyhame, he stood at the head of the great hall as Gandalf the White. He raised his staff towards the vaulted ceiling, filling each cranny with shining light.

“I shall draw you out, Saruman, like poison from a wound.”

Theoden squirmed in his seat. “Rohan is mine!” he snarled, teeth bared and eyes feral.

“Begone!” came Gandalf’s rallying cry, and with a final spasm, the king was released from Saruman’s thrall.

A golden haired woman pushed forward through the gathered members of the court, falling to the King’s side and taking his head in her hands. Anna watched with astonishment as the mantle of grey was lifted from the king’s features, like a storm over a city, the rain washing away the dirt and the grime from the streets. His head lifted, limbs straightened, and his posture regained a proud bearing. Looking at the woman at his side, his eyes flickered with awareness for the first time since the fellowship’s arrival in the Golden Hall.

“Be free again, my friend,” said Gandalf. 

Annamir thought this would be the opportune moment for a victory whoop but, sensing the tension in the room, restrained herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	6. Apple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like this scene. One of those quiet scenes that paints a certain mood. This would take place at the same time as Gandalf and Theoden’s chat at the grave of Theoden’s son.

Annamir idly wandered the main concourse of the city of Edoras. In the relative safety of Rohan’s capital, she had decided to forego her chainmail and armoured pauldrons, instead strolling casually through a rustic market in only light leathers. She’d even decided to leave her sword in the room she had been given in the great Golden Hall (although she still had her dagger strapped to her belt; she was never completely unarmed). The market was hardly teaming; even with Theoden’s health restored, Edoras was a solemn place. Theodred prince was dead, and the riders of Rohan lost in unknown northern places. Edoras may have finally escaped the influence of Grima Wormtongue, but Annamir sensed that his presence would be felt here for many months to come. 

Grima Wormtongue, her skin prickled at the thought. Only a few days ago he’d been banished from these lands and she’d watched from the steps of the Golden Hall until she could no longer make out his dark form on the horizon. Theoden had wanted to kill him, extract righteous justice for the mantle of impotence he had laid upon the King. But Aragorn had stayed the King’s hand and counseled peace; enough blood had already been spilt. Anna feared that sparing Grima would only bring further misery on the people of Rohan. Ever a servant of Saruman, even now he was probably by the wizard’s left hand in Orthanc, conniving and plotting, disclosing the secrets of Rohan.

Spying a stall laden with jewel-coloured fruits, Anna fumbled in her pocket for some coin, handed over a few dull coppers in exchange for a ripe, juicy apple. The old, gap-toothed woman smiled at Anna as she squirrelled the money away in a wooden lock-box and the ranger nodded her thanks. Annamir found a strange comfort in the normality she observed around her. It had been so long since she’d witnessed the mundane comings-and-goings of ordinary life. Even before she’d embarked on this quest to destroy the Ring, her life had been one long string of battles and ambushes. To see tradesmen hawking their wares, mothers scolding recalcitrant children, and old men animatedly gossiping on street corners, was a strangely glorious thing.

Chomping on her apple, reveling in the feel of the juices oozing down her chin, Anna saw Gandalf hurriedly marching up the winding streets towards her, a small boy in his arms and a bawling young girl running in his wake. Theoden walked with swift steps a little way behind, leading a sandy draft horse. With great reluctance, Annamir abandoned her apple and made her way toward the wizard.

“What’s this, old man?” she asked when she was near. He frowned at the nickname but answered in clipped tones, “wild men are making their way through the Westfold. These children come with news. We must assemble the others.”

Anna nodded in understanding, her earlier nonchalance fading away to be replaced with unease and a faint tingling of foreboding. Falling in step with Gandalf, they made their way towards the Golden Hall. The little farm-girl, tears leaving clean streaks on muddy cheeks, was struggling to keep up with the wizard’s long strides. Anna stepped forward and scooped her up, more out of impatience than kindness. Soon Saruman’s plans would be laid bare before them and she hoped that they would not be punished for Aragorn’s earlier mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	7. Warnings and Wildmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty boring but we need to get everyone to Helm’s Deep somehow. I like the first paragraph because Annamir is such a little shit.

Annamir watched the two children with astonishment as they ladled another bowlful of stew into tiny mouths. How could such small creatures possibly eat so much? Then she looked to the diminutive elf on the bench beside her, helping herself to another portion of bread and cheese, and remembered not to be deceived by size. Noticing Anna’s judgmental gaze, Nelwen offered Anna a hunk of bread and she took it wordlessly, shredded it between her fingers, and threw each small chunk into her gaping mouth in turn. Sometimes she missed and the little hunks of bread skittered across the stone floor. Nelwen scrunched her nose in disapproval. Anna had started to take a perverse delight in coaxing that particular expression from the elf and she continued to sport with her food with a wicked grin.

“They had no warning,” said Eowyn, the King’s niece, her voice lilting with sadness and the tremours of well-controlled rage. “They were unarmed. Now the wildmen are roving through the Westfold, burning as they go.” She placed a comforting blanket over the shoulders of the children, soothing their whimpers with gentle cooing noises.

Sitting beside the King, Gandalf counseled, “this is but a taste of the terror Saruman will unleash. If you do not ride out and meet him head on, he will unleash even greater evils upon Rohan. You must fight!” He placed his long, slender hand on the carved arm of the King’s throne, leant towards the King to demonstrate his earnestness. The King eyed him warily and Anna mentally warned Gandalf not to push too hard. The King had spent too long at the mercy of Grima’s persuasion; the harder Gandalf pushed, the harder the King would try to resist, a much-belated show of defiance.

“You have 2,000 good men riding north as we speak. Eomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their King,” said Aragorn.

At Aragorn’s words the King stepped from his throne, started pacing the great hall with a grimace. “They will be too far away by now, riding across unknown places. Eomer cannot help us.”

Gandalf, too, rose. He made his way towards the King, opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a sharp sweep of Theoden’s hand.

“I know what it is you want from me. I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war.”

“Open war is upon you, whether you risk it or not,” interrupted Aragorn with uncharacteristic sass. Annamir approved.

Theoden strode towards the table where the fellowship sat, leaned in to scowl at Aragorn scornfully. “Last I looked, Theoden, not Aragorn, was King of Rohan.” 

“Then what is the King’s decision?” asked Gandalf. 

“We make for the refuge of Helm’s Deep,” announced Theoden, turning from the fellowship to address his guards and the few assembled members of his court. “No enemy has yet taken the Hornburg. It has protected our people before, it will protect us again.” The hall broke out into sudden activity, guards peeling away to pass on the orders, members of the court fussing and keening in fear. Gandalf bowed his head in defeat, looked to Annamir with a plaintive gaze. Theoden turned to his lieutenant, Gamling, and insisted quietly, “this is not a defeat. We _will_ return.”

As he walked from the hall towards his private chambers, Annamir heard him whisper, as if praying, “we _will_ return.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	8. Retreat from Edoras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing really happens here but I wanted some casual chit-chat between the Fellowship – showing that they are genuinely friends, a family of sorts. I can’t just write endless battle scenes if we don’t know what they’re fighting for!
> 
> I actually kind of love this section. Everyone's getting to be such buddies! I also enjoy making up really ridiculous stories for Annamir – they are going to be so absurd by the time we get to Return of the King!

Nelwen stood at the edge of the green terrace surrounding the Meduseld, watched as the people of Edoras started their slow march out of the city. Many walked with hunched shoulders, heavy packs upon their backs, leading over-burdened horses or squalling children. Many more still hurried in and out of buildings, preparing their homes for a long absence and gathering supplies. She’d originally come to the terrace to watch Gandalf depart, born swiftly away on the back of Shadowfax. Dissatisfied with Theoden’s decision, he’d left Edoras in search of the riders of Rohan, certain that they would return to defend their people and their King. Many hours later, Nelwen still stood, transfixed by the milling of people, like a child watching an anthill.

She stood in a newly made coat of darkest burgundy. It had been impossible to clean the dried orc blood from her old elven leathers and the whole lot had had to be disposed of (apart from the boots; they were relatively untouched and no craftsmanship of man could compare to an elven cobbler). A strong gale played with her long braided hair, made her Lorien cloak billow around her. The leaf-shaped broach she had dropped as a clue for the rangers had been broken by the heavy footfalls of Uruk-hai boots and so she’d bought a broach of Rohirrim design to affix her elven cloak. It was a clunky thing of knotted gold, dotted with semi-precious stones of red and blue; her elven friends would think it vulgar, Nel thought it was nice.

Annamir approached her from behind, placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready to depart?” Anna asked. Nelwen only nodded, turning to follow Annamir as she started down the stairs leading from the Meduseld.

“Helm’s Deep!” Anna scoffed as they moved among the river of people, “they flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight! Who will defend them if not their king?" 

“He’s only doing what he thinks is best for his people.” 

“He’s walking them into a trap! What they will get is a massacre. I fear for the survival of Rohan. And when Rohan falls, Gondor falls.”

“They will hold,” assured Nel with a crooked smile. “They will hold because _we_ will not let them fall.”

Annamir looked at her, smiled in return. “When did you get so sure of yourself?”

“Look at us,” she said, gesturing between them, “two against the combined mighty forces of Isengard and Mordor. Blind optimism is all I’ve got, all I have to stave off the madness and despair.”

“Three,” interrupted Aragorn, appearing from behind to hand her her pack. “ _Three_ of us against the combined forces of darkness. Or are you planning on ridding yourself of me, Bell?”

“We couldn’t if we tried,” sighed Annamir, half jest, half genuine lament.

He huffed out a solitary chuckle then walked from the two women towards the stables. They watched him go for a moment before resuming their slow ambling and casual chatter.

“Aragorn calls you Bell,” Anna stated. “Some of the elves in Lorien too. Why?”

“Nell means ‘bell’ in Sindarin,” Nelwen explained with a shrug. “It is just a silly nickname.”

Anna looked thoughtful, “and ‘wen’, I believe, means ‘maiden’ – so your name means… ‘bell maiden’?”

“No – ‘nell’ means ‘bell’ but ‘nel’ means ‘third’.” Anna looked at her blankly, and Nelwen sighed at her inability to distinguish the subtle differences in elven pronunciation. “My name means ‘third maiden’,” Nelwen explained. “My parents were not particularly creative with their names. My sisters are Minwen, ‘first maiden’, Tadwen ‘second maiden’ and then there’s me.” 

“Third maiden.”

“Exactly.” Nel scrunched her nose in her all too frequent gesture of disapproval.

Annamir laughed at Nel’s apparent consternation with her name but stopped when she noticed Nel’s scowl deepen. “My father’s name is Anna _mund_ and mine is Anna _mir_ , one could hardly accuse my parents of an over abundance of originality either.”

“Annamir means ‘to give precious treasure’ in the language of my people,” she said with a warm smile.

“Hmm… you don’t say! That’s – well – rather nice.” Annamir gave Nelwen an enthusiastic clap on the back. Nelwen flinched at the unexpected sting but took the gesture as it was presumably intended: a gesture of friendship.

“So how did you pick up your smattering of elvish? Have you travelled to many elven kingdoms?” asked Nel, prompting Anna to gleefully divulge one of her more scandalous anecdotes. No, Annamir had never been to any elven kingdoms before she’d travelled to Rivendell at Gandalf’s summons. But she’d had a brief but tumultuous affair with an elf that resulted in Anna being banned from several settlements in the Brown Lands. It had also resulted in the acquisition of a rather splendid, jagged scar across her back, which, Anna believed, made the whole debacle worth it.

The two women were soon embroiled in lively conversation and Nelwen couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so heartily. Nel spoke of her ill-fated romantic endeavours with the prince of Mirkwood, whose magnificent hair had, for a time, managed to blind her from his complete lack of intelligence or wit. Anna, in turn, spoke of another short-lived affair she’d had with a temperamental dwarf with whom she’d gone white-river rafting down the Gilrain river. Following a disagreement over the merits of lemon oil in sword maintenance, the dwarf had stabbed Anna between the shoulder blades with a piccolo and burned all of her possessions. While the arson was unfortunate, the views along the Gilrain River had been superb. Nelwen marveled at man’s ability to make so many poor decisions in such short periods of time.

In the long lives of the elves, any relationship lasting less than several hundred years was considered a mere trifle, barely worthy of remembrance. But after barely two months Nel was beginning to suspect that this fledgling friendship with the Southern Ranger with poor decision-making skills would eventually become one of her most valued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	9. The Riddermarck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annamir and Eowyn have a chinwag on the way to Helm's Deep.

Basked in golden sunlight, with the softly undulating plains of the Riddermarck stretched before them, Annamir concluded that this was the most picturesque retreat she’d ever embarked upon. Winding between shallow ridges and fording gently plodding streams, their route took them across some of the easiest terrain the fellowship had enjoyed since the Gladden Fields. Tall grasses swayed in the bracing wind and the snow-topped White Mountains curving to the west gave an otherwise unremarkable landscape a sense of grandeur (and Annamir always liked a bit of grandeur; it made her stories that little bit more epic).

She had with her as she walked a captive audience. Eowyn, Theoden’s lovely niece, walked to her left, and a brace of teenaged boys jostled to her right. Nelwen walked a little apart from the group, although well within the limit of her elven hearing so she could still listen to Annamir’s outrageous (and, although she would never admit it, sometimes partially fictitious) stories. With wild gesticulations and an uncanny impression of Gandalf, Annamir retold one of her personal favourites.

She told of how, many years ago, Gandalf and Annamir had set out to the Withered Heath to slay dragons who, stirred by the growing darkness in the east, had begun to harass the people of the Dales. Having crossed the Redwater River, they had hoped to rest and replenish their supplies in the great halls of the Dwarven kingdom in the Iron Hills. But the dwarves were not particularly fond of Gandalf, many remembering the part he played in the death of Thorin Oakenshield, and their assistance was not easily forthcoming. In the end Annamir had had to partake in a deadly boar race, which she had won thanks mainly to her liberal application of alcohol to her competitor’s the night before, in order to earn the dwarves’ respect. The assembled group burst into uproarious laughter, Eowyn trying to hide her giggling behind an elegant hand. With her story complete, the boys ran off to practice the dwarven expletives Annamir had taught them, leaving the women in peace.

“You have fought in many battles then?” asked Eowyn, open curiosity written across her face.

“Of course!” Anna said with a chuckle and a theatrical shrug, “I was born to a warrior’s family and joined the Rangers of Ithilien when I was fourteen. Since then I have known only war, my long-sword has been my only steady companion.”

“The Rangers of Ithilien welcome women into their numbers?”

“Not habitually.”

“Then how did you become a Ranger?”

“I had three disappointing older brothers,” was her simple response.

Eowyn looked at Anna imploringly, “please – tell me, truthfully!”

Anna gave a reluctant sigh but she had never been good at refusing the requests of beautiful blondes. “My father had great aspirations for my brothers. They would join the Rangers of Ithilien like him, and his father before him. And they would fight in the name of Gondor; bring glory to the family. But none of them had the skill to follow in my father’s footsteps. Not like me. I’ve had a natural gift with swords ever since I was old enough to wrap my stubby hands around a butter knife. And so it was on me, not them, that my father pinned his hopes. Of course the Captains of the Rangers denied me at first, said that there was no place for a woman among their numbers. But as the death toll rose, and the forces of Mordor kept advancing, the Captains could no longer be so picky. And so I was welcomed with… well, not quite open arms… but not apparent hostility either.”

Eowyn looked at her with admiration. “I envy you. To marshal your weapon with such skill. To use those skills in the defence of your homeland…” 

“You’re a Shieldmaiden of Rohan! I’ve seen you practice with your sword in the Golden Hall! You have great skill with a blade.”

“What use is skill if I do not have the chance to use it?!” she exclaimed with frustration.

“The kingdoms of Middle Earth are at war, my lady. Trust me, in time, you will have the chance to show Rohan your mettle.”

At that moment, Aragorn rode past astride his horse, Hasufel, and Annamir noted the way Eowyn watched him, the way her eyes admired his form and a gentle smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. _Oh dear_ , Annamir thought, _the King’s niece is going to get her heart broken_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	10. En Route to Helm's Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn’t originally exist. But then after I wrote Helm’s Deep I felt like something was missing and so I went back to add this section. This explains how Nel goes from an inexperienced fighter at Amon Hen to a relatively confident fighter for Helm’s Deep - clearly she's been practicing. I also wanted to add more feminist ranting at the end.

The sun sat heavy in the sky, bathing the softly undulating hills of Rohan in golden hues as it slipped behind the peaks of the Ered Nimrais. The air was cool but the late evening sun still held a lot of heat. All around the camp, the people of Edoras gathered in small groups to chat and eat, filling the air with the comforting sound of mundane contentment.

Usually on crisp Autumnal evenings like this, Nelwen would walk through the forests of the Bruinen Valley. Rivendell looked particularly spectacular in Autumn, its placid green backdrop suddenly bursting into a million glowing tints; leaves in a thousand luminous hues standing stark and crisp against a vivid blue sky. She would walk along the riverbank under a canopy of flaming scarlet and vibrant saffron, sing in time with the rhythem of the tumbling water, and watch the setting sun paint lustrous gold stripes across the darkening blue sky. 

But Nelwen was not strolling along a sunlit riverbank, nor sending up a lilting tune in praise of the beauty of the natural world. Instead Nelwen was sprawled on the floor, her cheek pressing into the dirt, with Annamir’s knee pushing persistently on her spine. “See what happens when you don’t watch your flank?” said Anna with a considerable amount of smugness in her tone. “Yes, yes I get your point – now get off!” Nelwen commanded, somehow managing to sound imperious even when roughly pinned to the ground.

Anna quickly granted the elf’s request, extending her hand to help Nel to her feet. “You have to be aware of everything on all sides, not just focused on what is right in front of you. Now try again,” Anna directed, stepping back and readying the dagger in her hand.

Nelwen dusted the dirt from her tunic, glowered at Annamir while readying her own dagger once more. She took a moment to position her feet exactly how Anna had taught her, her body pitched forward, weight resting on the pads of her feet. When she felt prepared, she moved, diving right, feinting left, then arching forward to bring her dagger down onto Anna’s left shoulder. Instead her blade met Anna’s with a light clang and the ranger pushed back with such force that Nelwen stumbled back a few steps. Nel let out a frustrated growl; they’d been practicing for hours and she was yet to land a single hit.

After being caught without her bow on Amon Hen, Nel had determined to learn how to properly wield her dagger. Annamir had been more than eager to help, undoubtedly reveling in any opportunity to lord over the usually smug elf. But Anna had been unexpectedly obliging, teaching Nelwen with patience and very little mockery (obviously there was _some_ mockery; she was, after all, only human). “Try again,” encouraged Anna. “You need surprisingly little force to kill someone; flesh is pretty soft and squishy. But you _do_ need to hit them. Use your agility to your advantage.”

Nelwen positioned her feet again, pivoted her dagger in her hand for no reason other than that she’d often seen Anna doing the same. With a steadying breath, she darted forward again, her feet bounding soundlessly across the grass. She dashed to the left, spun gracefully out of the way when Anna tried to elbow her, then lunged forward until the tip of her dagger made contact with Anna’s side.

She gave out an indecorous whoop, having decided that she’d left her dignity ground into the dirt several hours ago. Pleased with her student’s progress, Anna gave Nel’s shoulders an enthusiastic shake and grinned ear to ear. Deciding to quit while she was ahead, Nelwen thanked her teacher before going in search of somewhere to clean up.

After a brief plunge in a nearby stream, Nel made her way to where her bedroll and pack were neatly arranged, took a few minutes to clean her dagger and replace the string of her bow. Once she was happy that all her equipment was in good order, she joined Aragorn where he sat on a small bluff overlooking the camp. He gave no acknowledgement of her arrival, only stared into the distance while clutching the pendant around his neck so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“What’s wrong?” Nelwen asked, her voice thick with concern. At all times Aragorn bore himself with dignity and a quiet confidence. It worried her to see him so abnormally tense.

It took him a moment to register her presence. “It is nothing,” he finally replied.

“Don’t lie to me,” she warned, voice steely.

He sighed, clearly reluctant to answer her question. But Nelwen was in all things indefatigable and he knew that he would not be able to evade her. “The elves of Rivendell are leaving for Valinor. It is my hope that Arwen is among them. That she travels with her kin to the undying lands.”

"What?! You're wrong - Arwen loves you, would never leave you. The stone around your neck is surely proof of that."

“She _should_ go with her people. She _belongs_ with her people. I fear she will remain for my sake; fear she will waste away after my passing in misery and in loneliness. I would have her take the ships to Valinor.” 

“But that’s not your decision!” she said forcefully, cheeks pink with anger, disappointment evident in the pinch between her eyes. “You can’t decide whether Arwen goes to Valinor and you can’t push her away to make the decision _for_ her. That’s just cowardly. You say you fear she will make the wrong choice; that she will spend all the days of her life in misery and loneliness. That may very well be the case! But it’s _her_ life – _her_ misery and _her_ joy – and no one else can choose it but her.” 

Aragorn wasn’t one to be easily chastised but Nelwen had a unique talent at shaming people with her words. He bowed his head in thought, unclasping his hand to peer at the silver pendant held within. For a time they sat in contemplative silence until at length Aragorn turned to her to ask, “do you think of Valinor? Of leaving Middle Earth with your kin?”

She hesitated before answering, somewhat startled by the question. “Of course I think about it. But I’m in no rush. Everything I love is here; why leave?” She gave a shrug, tinged with forced nonchalance. She didn’t want to admit that it was a question that plagued her often. She was still so young, still had so much she wanted to see and do in Middle Earth. She wasn’t _ready_. But the elves were already leaving Middle Earth, so many havens already stood empty, and more than anything she feared being left alone.

Always perceptive, Aragorn noticed how his question troubled her, even despite Nelwen’s best efforts to mask her disquiet. He pressed no further, not wishing to cause further pain. Instead he reached out and took her hand, tried to convey with the simple gesture that she was not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	11. Wargs!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the film the two scouts get eaten. I wanted to save them (although I guess they could have died later in the altercation). I also just wanted to make Nelwen a bit of a badass on the battlefield – don’t know why Annamir should get all the fun!
> 
> I really like this section.

Nelwen strolled along a high rocky ridge hugging the base of the Ered Nimrais. She jumped over rocks as she went, remembering the games she played in her youth when she and the children of Rivendell would clamber over the rocks of the Bruinen Ford, seeing who could jump the highest and with the greatest ease. She had long stored away her cloak, her limbs warmed by her gamboling and the late morning sun on her back. Glancing briefly over her shoulder, she saw the people of Edoras as they snaked across the plains of Rohan. _Ugh, humans were so slow_. Frustrated by their plodding pace, she had offered to act as scout and pushed on ahead. 

She sang as she walked, her voice pitched low so as not to carry, a melancholy elven tune about beloved ones lost in war. Bill, whom Nel had decided was the best of all horses, Rohirrim steeds be damned, nodded his head in agreement as he trotted obediently behind her. Suddenly, Bill startled, whinnying plaintively and driving at the ground with his hooves. “Mani naa ta, Bill?” she asked the horse in her soothing elven lilt, trying to stroke his forelock in a comforting gesture. But the creature would not be comforted and Nelwen cast her eyes around them to try and see what had caused her friend such distress.

There, in the distance, she thought she saw something, some frantic movement.

Leaping higher up the ridge with the effortless grace of an elf, she peered from her new vantage point and watched in horror as mounted orcs crested a nearby hill. To the east of the ridge on which she stood, rode two Rohirrim scouts. Without elven eyesight, they remained unaware of the danger into which they were riding. Muttering some of Annamir’s favourite expletives, Nel jumped partway down the ridge, mounted her steed, and made her way towards the human scouts with all the speed that the mighty Bill could muster.

The scouts started when she approached which, Nel determined, did not particularly bode well. If they hadn’t noticed her hurried approach then what hope had they in noticing the oncoming orc forces. She wondered darkly whether the wargs would have started feasting on their extremities before they had even realised they were under attack.

“Orcs, mounted on wargs, approach from the north! Hurry – warn the others!” she cried, before galloping towards the advancing enemy without even waiting for the humans to respond.

She’d spotted the orcs early, had given the humans ample warning. Now she had the advantage. While the wargs had probably picked up Bill’s scent, it was unlikely that their orc riders had spotted her. If she could inflict some early damage, maybe she could win the humans some extra time, help lesson their inevitable casualties.

She steered Bill along the eastern edge of a spur she had observed from her previous position along the rocky ridge. Hidden from view, she circled the pack of wargs before emerging at their rear. Smirking at her own cleverness, she pulled her bow from her back, notched an arrow and sent it flying into the nearest orc’s head. He immediately slumped forward, his warg mount continuing in ignorance of his rider’s fate. The next shot hit the warg in the base of his skull, and both he and his already deceased master thudded limply to the floor. Nelwen prepared her bow again, once more silently dispatching the rider before shooting the warg. Each shot was clean, each shot immediately felled its target, and the pack rode on without noticing that its numbers lessened as the elf soundlessly picked them off one-by one.

By the time the humans arrived, riding forward in a wall of spears and fluttering green banners, Nelwen had already diminished the orc horde by a third. Nel smirked with satisfaction; what need had she for the riders of Rohan when she had her bow and the mighty Bill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	12. The Fellowship's First Casualty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna does not like fighting on horseback! She is a woman made for ambushes and urban battle.

Fighting on horseback was unnatural. The riders of Rohan, Annamir concluded, must be privy to some sort of foul sorcery in order to cut a swathe through their enemies without falling on their arses.

Annamir was a decent rider, and fighting came to her as naturally as breathing, but attempting both tasks simultaneously was utterly beyond her. Clinging desperately at a horse’s reins while clenching her thighs with all her strength and clutching tenuously to her long-sword did not lend itself to effective blood-letting. It was therefore with peculiar relief that Annamir found herself thrown from her horse.

Her feet finally planted on solid ground, Annamir rolled her shoulders and pivoted her long-sword in her hand to test its weight, a smile playing on her lips. A warg surged toward her with gleeful grimace, his rider shouting orders in a foul shriek, but Anna stood her ground. She stood perfectly still, sword held primly in front of her, like the statues that used to line the coliseum of Osgiliath before the Nazgul tore them down one-by-one. At the very last moment, she side-stepped and brought the tip of her sword down into the wild wolf’s neck. She glanced over her shoulder only long enough to watch the creature skid to a stop several feet beyond before throwing herself into the fray.

Observing the battlefield, Anna noted with peculiar pride a great number of orcs and wargs pitted with arrows; Nelwen was quickly making up for her lack of experience. She could make her out a little distance away, firing arrow after arrow while perched daintily on Bill's back. Clearly Nelwen had availed herself of whatever sorcery the riders of Rohan were privy to.

An orc stumbled in front of her, startled to have been abruptly parted from his mount, and Anna put a merciful end to his confusion with a quick stab to the throat. Nearby, a riderless warg gnawed at the armoured leg of a prone Rohirrim soldier whose wretched cries were almost loud enough to be heard above the din of battle. Anna rushed to his side, pierced the foul creature through the eye and then levered his jaw open long enough for the soldier to wriggle free. She gave the soldier a smile and a nod before whirling around to find something else to stab. Falling into her familiar rythem, she whirled and dove through the throng, stabbing and hacking with efficient, well-considered blows.

The battle was quick, their losses few; the humans were lucky that Nelwen had been able to give them considerable warning of the imminent threat. Anna stood and wiped the orc blood off her blade with a rag, watching the soldiers of Rohan move across the field to give aid to their fallen comrades and put horses injured beyond hope out of their misery with a swift plunge of their swords.

"Aragorn!" Nelwen called, picking her way across the fallen orcs and humans. Annamir briefly raised her head, watched Nel pace for a moment, then returned to her task. Aragorn was probably fine. But when the Nelwen's calls for her friend continued to go unanswered, Anna's hand stilled and she felt the first pang of unease. Her eyes scanned the field; saw nothing. She made a circuit of the battlefield, all the while calling his name; still nothing. Nelwen's pale complexion had taken on an ashen hue and Annamir feared that perhaps the fellowship had just experienced its first casualty.

Nearing the edge of a crag, she heard the muffled, watery laughter of a dying orc. She turned to see the bloodied beast regarding her smugly.

“Tell me what happened and I will ease your parting,” snarled Annamir, her dagger at the creature’s throat.

“He’s dead,” the orc rasped. “He took a little tumble off the cliff.” 

“He’s lying,” Nelwen cried as she stepped forward. “He’s _lying_ ,” she repeated as she knelt at the orc’s side, sounding noticeably less convinced. Spying a flash of silver, she uncurled the orc’s bloodied fist to reveal Arwen’s favour, Aragorn’s most beloved possession, the chain broken and bloodied. 

With graceless feet, Nelwen stumbled from the orc to the edge of the cliff, peered cautiously over the edge to the turbulent waters below. Annamir approached her slowly from behind, not wanting to startle her as she stood so close to the cliff’s edge. When she finally reached her side, she risked glancing at Nel’s face.

Nelwen’s was not good at hiding her feelings and Anna had quickly become familiar with her expressions. The way she scrunched her nose when she disapproved, the way her ears flushed pink when she was proven wrong (which, contrary to the elf’s protestations, did _occasionally_ happen), the way her smile became crooked when she was genuinely amused. But never before had Annamir seen her look so utterly desolated, tears streaking down her cheeks and mouth disfigured in a silent wail.

She’d been so preoccupied by her concern for her friend that Annamir hadn’t noticed King Theoden’s approach, didn’t notice his presence until he rested a consoling hand on Nel’s shoulder. Nel flinched at the touch, her whole body gripped with tremours of grief, roiling over her in waves. Theoden snatched his hand back as if burnt. At an apparent loss on how to comfort her, he turned instead to rejoin his men. “Get the wounded to horses. The wolves of Isengard will return,” he said to his lieutenant. With clear reluctance he added, “leave the dead.” At his final word, Nelwen gave a strangled whimper. “Come,” called the King, rallying them for their onward journey to Helm’s Deep.

The two remaining members of the fellowship stood at the cliff’s edge, Nel’s whimpers growing into full-throated cries. Annamir, knowing that Nelwen was not overly fond of unsolicited physical contact, placed a cautious arm around the elf’s shoulders. After a moment, Nelwen turned and curled herself into Annamir’s chest, crying openly on her shoulder. Annamir wrapped her arms around her and murmured empty platitudes: perhaps the orc was wrong, perhaps he’d survived the fall, perhaps he’d meet them at Helm’s Deep. But she knew that Aragorn was likely dead, and she was surprised at how much that realisation _hurt_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	13. Too Many Winters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annamir prepares the men of Helm's Deep for battle. Nelwen mopes.
> 
> I really like this section! It starts off all introspective, then there’s an argument, then a rallying feminist moment at the end! This section has it all!

Helm’s Deep was dirty; it’s inhabitants even more so. As Nelwen moved through the keep her face betrayed her growing disdain and a few humans regarded her reproachfully. While her performance in defeating the wargs had earned her the respect of many, she was still an elf, and the humans remained distrustful of her otherness. She ignored their reproving looks; the only human whose good opinion she cared about was dead. She shuddered at the thought, a tingling wave that started at her neck and wracked her body to her toes. She wanted to shoot something, but Helm’s Deep was a jostling hive of activity and there was no space in which to set up a target.

Rounding a sharp corner, the elf found herself in the wide yard that stretched behind the Deeping Wall. Throngs of people gathered in small groups, comforting small children and sharing tales of close escapes from marauding Dunlendings. With so many bodies pushed together, wailing and whispering, pacing and stamping their feet, the smell and the noise was overbearing to the elf’s sharp senses. Nelwen was just about to turn and seek some semblance of peace on the battlements of the Hornburg when she saw Annamir’s vigorous waving.

With a sigh, she reluctantly forced her way through the crowd, asking the humans to move with imperious tones and then pushing her way through when they didn’t move out of her way quick enough. When she finally neared Annamir, standing next to the shallow stream that crept through the yard, she was surprised to find her sparring with the King’s niece, watched on all sides by captivated human eyes. The two women circled one another, slashed and parried, pausing only when Annamir offered critique on Eowyn’s posture or form. Nelwen knew little of swordplay but it was clear to even her amateur’s eyes that Annamir was the superior swordsman. Eowyn bore herself well with a sword, made confident and well-aimed strikes, but she remained static, her feet welded awkwardly to the ground. Annamir never stopped moving, bobbing and ducking with her weight pitched forward on her toes. 

When Annamir noticed Nel’s arrival, she lowered her sword to the vocal disappointment of those around her. Ever the showman, she dropped into a theatrical bow to the assembled humans before walking toward her friend.

“What is this?” asked Nel.

“The King’s soldiers are few. Every able-bodied man has been mobilised.” She waved at the crowd of boys and men, “anyone who can bear a weapon is to stand at post. I thought I would teach them, give them some pointers.”

Nelwen swept her eyes across the collected rabble. Boys, with gangly limbs and gap-toothed smiles, peered from behind the hunched shoulders of withered old men. A few strong, broad men stood among their number, but they were few and far between.

“These men?!” she asked with an arched brow and her mouth curled into a sneer. “Farriers, farmers, stable-boys; these are no soldiers! Most have seen too many winters – or too few. Look at them! They’re frightened! You can see it in their eyes. And they _should_ be. It is no rabble of mindless orcs that approaches; these are _Uruk-hai_. They stand taller than any man, strong but agile, wielding colossal broad-swords to render flesh in twain.”

She ended her outburst at the uncomfortable realisation that the yard had fallen silent, the mass of humans struck mute by Nelwen’s dire warning. Annamir looked at her with disappointment and Nelwen felt her stomach lurch at the sight. Apparently Aragorn wasn’t the only human whose good opinion mattered to her.

“What happened to your bravado at Edoras? What happened to you and I taking on the combined forces of Isengard _and_ Mordor? Such defeatism is unlike you.”

“Much has happened since Edoras,” she muttered, clenching her fists to stop the tears she felt brimming in her eyes.

Annamir’s face softened somewhat at the sight of Nelwen’s sorrow but her voice lost none of its steeliness. “Aragorn is dead; we remain. The forces of Isengard will not stop to grieve his passing; they march ever closer. So you can either skulk around the battlements, wallowing in your misery, or you can help me prepare these men for battle.”

Nelwen narrowed her eyes warningly at Anamir. Nelwen did not skulk, neither did she wallow, for both were beneath her.

“You there!” Nel called, pointing to a young man who grasped his sword like the victim of a shipwreck might cling to the wreckage. “What is your name?”

“Haleth, son of Hama.”

“And how old are you?”

“Fourteen.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Nelwen muttered so that only Annamir could here. For an elf, fourteen years was akin to a matter of weeks. Annamir gave her a sharp look in response. 

Nelwen took a deep breath, reigned in her pride and pushed back her anger and grief. Annamir was right: Saruman’s army marched for Helm’s Deep and if this motley band of farmers and labourers was to stave off a massacre, they needed to be prepared. “I apologise,” Nelwen said, ostensibly to Annamir but with her voice pitched loud enough for the whole yard to hear. “I feel my recent loss keenly… but I shouldn’t let it cloud my judgement. During my short time travelling with humans I have learnt a great deal of the fortitude and strength of men, seen proof of it with my own eyes. Here in the impregnable stronghold of Helm’s Deep, the men of Rohan will make their stand. And I am _proud_ to stand among them.”

The assembled humans broke out with, well not quite thunderous applause but certainly hearty agreement. Their spirits seemed lifted, their lively chatter returned, and Nel too felt some of her habitual optimism returning. Stepping close to Annamir she sad, “never in my life have I lost when I sought to succeed. I do not intend on starting today.” Annamir smiled, taking her hand and shaking vigourously.

Nelwen took her bow from her back, asked for volunteers. A number of boys and men raised their voices, crude bows strapped to backs and clutched white-knuckled in uncertain hands. She noticed a woman standing a short distance away, bow on back, worrying absentmindedly with the fletching of an arrow while watching the men assemble around Nel.

“You there!” Nel called, “why don’t you join us?”

“I am a woman,” was her curt reply, as if her answer was obvious and Nelwen’s question ridiculous.

“It does not matter whether man or woman fires the arrow; only that it finds its target.”

“The King won’t allow women to fight alongside the men.”

“I don’t see why not. Why swell our numbers with all able-bodied men but exclude women of genuine talent? One skilled woman is worth ten untrained farm-boys.”

Eowyn stepped forward from behind Annamir, “The King has ordered for all woman and children to seek shelter in the Glittering Caves. We will be safe there until the battle is over.” Her voice was resigned but there was fire in her eyes, an eagerness to prove her mettle.

“And what if we lose? Should the battle go ill, the Uruk-hai will slaughter you all whether you shelter in the Glittering Caves or not. But if you stay, if you _stand_ and _fight_ , then perhaps we will survive the night.”

“There is sense in your words but the King will argue with you.”

Nelwen smiled, her grin crooked. “The King can try.”

And with that, Nelwen was gone, spinning on her feet and hurrying up the winding steps of the Keep to find King Theoden; she had an argument to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	14. A Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is quite a short section. There have been several longer sections before and there are long sections to come so I thought this scene needed to be kept short. The fellowship is reunited! Well – kind of – Gandalf is still frolicking through Rohan in search of Karl Urban.

Annamir sprawled inelegantly on the floor of the yard, her shoulders propped up on her rolled-up elven cloak. She imagined Galadriel would disapprove of Anna’s misuse of her gift. Good. Her limbs ached with the satisfying dull throb of a successful sparring session and she distantly wondered whether she had overdone herself, whether it was truly wise to tire herself so fully with imminent battle looming. She shooed away such thoughts. The people of Rohan needed training and a little tiredness was an easy price to pay if her efforts might save some lives.

A small commotion from the direction of the keep drew her attention. Pulling herself reluctantly from the dirt, she walked briskly towards the sound, wondering whether perhaps a messenger had arrived with pressing news on the enemy. As she neared the gate to the keep she spied a tall, dark figure gingerly dismounting from his steed. It was clear from his jerked movements and bloodied attire that he was badly injured and Annamir marvelled that he had been able to ride at all.

Getting closer, the breath was drawn from her chest and a grin split her face. “It is true what they say,” she bellowed, forcing her way through the crowd to welcome the newcomer, “the biggest fools have the greatest luck!” 

“It is good to see you too!” said Aragorn in return, drawing her into an unexpected but eager hug despite the obvious pain it brought him.

Pulling back from the embrace, the smile faded from Aragorn’s face, replaced with his usual stoic solemnity. “Where is the King? I must speak to him at once.”

“Fuck the King!” exclaimed Anna, poetic as always. “You should find Nelwen first. She’s been-”

A shriek of joy interrupted Anna mid-sentence and Nelwen rushed past, throwing herself into the arms of Aragorn with little consideration of the pain she may be inflicting. He returned her embrace with a good-natured chuckle, bringing his arms around her back and squeezing her with as much strength as his limbs would allow.

Finally relinquishing her vice-like grip on her old friend, Nel swept her eyes up and down Aragorn’s form, saw his wounds and the seeping blood, and scrunched her nose. “You look bloody terrible!” she exclaimed, running her fingers through his hair and smoothing the collar of his coat in a futile attempt to make him look somewhat presentable. “What the fuck have you been doing? Were the wargs not challenge enough for you? Did you fight the entire army of Isengard single-handedly?”

He gave a hearty laugh, shook her shoulders convivially. “I’m afraid nothing quite so grand. I lost a wrestling match with a river. But please, I have news of Saruman’s forces. I must speak with Theoden King.”

He made to walk past her and climb the winding stairs into the Hornburg but Nelwen stopped him with a delicate hand to the crook of his elbow. “Wait,” she said, handing him the glimmering silver of Arwen’s pendant, pressing it into his palm and curling his fingers over it protectively. “Don’t lose it again. I would not want you to invoke Arwen’s anger. There is little I fear greater than that.”

Annamir barked with laughter, “I find it hard to believe that any elf’s anger can compete with yours, Nelly. There are few who express their emotions with as much vehemence as you.” Aragorn laughed while Nelwen scowled, though without genuine heat. “Come,” Annamir continued, linking her arms with those of her companions, “let us to this King.” 

It must have been a strange sight, the three of them skipping up the steps of the Hornburg, Annamir and Nelwen laughing freely while Aragorn tried, and failed, to contain his own mirth. But the people of Rohan stepped aside as they came, watched as the trio ascended to the King, and prayed that this seemingly shambolic trio really could lead them to victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	15. Making Battle Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this section, King Theoden and the fellowship devise a battle plan.
> 
> Anna and I met while studying War Studies at university so we both know a lot about different military tactics for different types of warfare. The fight as depicted in the film makes absolutely no sense (e.g. why are the elves firing in volleys when volleys were a technique developed to accommodate how long it took to re-arm early front-loaded guns and therefore not at all relevant for bows?). So having Annamir school everyone on siege warfare was fun!
> 
> And then the elves rock up. I debated for a long time whether I wanted the elves to turn up since they don’t in the books. But I decided I wanted Haldir to be at Helm’s Deep because it was established during the Lorien sections that he and Nelwen were friends and I wanted to build on that.
> 
> Also – “we were busy!” is possibly one of my favourite Annamir lines.

The King paced the hall of the Hornburg. To one side, stood his most trusted lieutenants, to the other, stood the fellowship. He eyed the latter warily. 

“All of Isengard is emptied,” said Aragorn, imparting the intelligence about their enemy he had gleamed before arriving at Helm’s Deep. “They are ten thousand strong at least. An army bred for a single purpose: to destroy the world of men. It will be here by nightfall.”

For a moment Theoden’s eyes widened, evident fear etched in every feature of his face, before he was able to school his features back into kingly stoicism. His advisors broke out in terrified murmuring, clearly alarmed by the news that a force of such a size was approaching.

Annamir arched an eyebrow in amusement. Scoffed inwardly at their fear. _Amateurs_.

“It does not matter if it is ten thousand that approaches or a _hundred_ thousand,” she said, speaking slowly and considered as if explaining a difficult philosophical concept to a child. “This is siege warfare, numbers do not matter. The victor will be decided based on the superiority of technology.”

The King and his advisors looked at Annamir as if she was speaking elvish.

“I have fought many wars, ranger, I know how to defend my own Keep,” sneered the King.

Annamir gave a huff of amusement. “This isn’t _your_ Keep. This Keep was built by the men of Gondor, defended for hundreds of years by _my_ forbears. I know you have won many battles, Theoden King, but routing the enemy on horseback in open plains is completely different from defending a fort. For many years have I defended the city of Osgiliath. I promise you, there is no one in all of Helm’s Deep more experienced in siege warfare than I. I implore you – utilise my expertise!”

“The Rohirrim do not need you, ranger. No army has ever breached the Deeping Wall, or set foot inside the Hornburg. They will break upon the fortress like water on rock.” 

She smirked wickedly, wide and crooked, and it was clear from Theoden’s narrowed eyes and curled top lip that the sight unnerved him. “Good, you’re cocky,” she said, “you’re going to need that baseless optimism to weather this siege.”

Theoden and his advisors no longer looked at Annamir with confusion, but open hostility. The King opened his mouth to speak but Annamir did not care to hear any more disparaging comments on her tactical knowledge of siege warfare. Instead she stepped forward, ushering the others to follow, to a crude map of the battlements that lay on a nearby table. She picked up one of the charcoal stubs that littered the table from the King’s advisors’ previous attempts to devise a battle-plan. She scrawled enthusiastically on the paper, talking hurriedly of her plans, hoping that the King would see that she was right before he had the chance to devise another dismissal.

“Aragorn saw no siege weapons among Saruman’s forces. Likely they have prioritised speed, hoping to crush the people of Rohan before they have the chance to rally. That means all we have to do is defend. We place our strongest archers here,” she drew a broad sweep along the Deeping Wall, “and our weakest fighters here,” she scratched a number of crosses along the walls of the keep above the causeway. “Your strongest swordsmen should be posted here,” she circled the courtyard behind the gate, “in case the enemy breaches the gate.”

The assembled group nodded but Theoden still looked uncertain. “What about here?” he asked, jabbing the paper to indicate the wide yard behind the Deeping Wall.

“We need archers. Longbows, ideally.”

“We have no more archers! The Rohirrim fight with pike and sword. What would you have me do?”

“Send out riders, my Lord. Call for aid!” interrupted Aragorn.

“And who will come? Elves? We are not so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are dead. Who will answer my call?”

“Gondor will answer!” cried Aragorn emphatically.

“Gondor?!” muttered Theoden, his voice gravelly with animosity. “Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell, where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us?!”

“We were busy!” shouted Annamir, incensed beyond what she thought possible. “For many years the forces of Suaron have besieged the borders of Gondor. It is only through the sacrifice of _my_ people that Rohan has remained untouched for so long! It is not Gondor’s fault that your numbers are too few, that those you have are not appropriately trained ”

At first the King’s eyes flashed with rage at her impudence and he opened his mouth as if to speak, to reprimand her for her outburst. But she watched with curiosity as his face fell before her eyes, the rage draining away to be replaced by weariness and, perhaps, a hint of shame. _He_ was the one who had placed his trust in the feckless Grima Wormtongue; _he_ who had banished his nephew; _he_ who had forced the riders of Rohan from his land. And now his people were going to pay the ultimate price for his failings. “Then this is to be our end,” he muttered, head bowed in resignation, “At least we will face the end with our swords in our hands. At least it will be an end worthy of remembrance.”

Theoden’s words diminished some of Annamir’s fire. If Theoden did not think victory possible, then it would certainly elude them. To hear him speak of endings, of sacrifices worthy of remembrance, made Annamir think even more fondly of her comrades in Gondor, who even in the face of endless assault never believed that the end was nigh.

Annamir was just about to reprimand the King for his defeatism, deliver some sort of stirring call to arms, when a distant horn sounded. Nelwen’s elven ears immediately perked up, “that is no orc horn,” she announced with a hopeful spark of recognition in her eyes. The King and his lieutenants hurried from the hall of the Hornburg, the fellowship immediately behind them, to peer over the battlements.

A column of elven soldiers, marching in perfect time, approached the causeway. Draped in cloaks of dove-grey, the late evening sun danced atop their golden helmets. Longbows adorned each back and a slightly curved elven arming sword hung from each belt. Standard bearers held aloft golden banners bearing the mark of Lothlorien. Annamir had never seen a more glorious sight in all of her life.

“Open the gate!” cried the King as he and the fellowship made to greet the new arrivals.

Haldir, guardsman of Lorien, led the elven forces as they entered the courtyard behind the keep’s gate. Theoden stood on the steps, struck silent and still with surprise, and watched as row after row of trained soldiers arranged themselves in front of him. Behind him, a great crowd of people had gathered, all straining to catch sight of the elven warriors. Stepping forward to address the King, Haldir gave a small bow. “I bring word from Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien and Lord Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between elves and men. Long ago we fought and died together; we come now to honour that allegiance.”

Nelwen finally managed to push herself through the crowds of humans, jostling Theoden as she passed him, to stand before her dear friend. “Cormamin lindua ele lle,” she said as greeting, raising a hand to cup his check affectionately. “Nae saian luume,” he replied, “lle maa quel.”

The two elves embraced, their faces lit by beaming smiles. When at last they parted, Aragorn stepped forward. “You are _most_ welcome!” he said, placing his hand to his chest and bowing in the customary elven greeting.

“We are proud to fight alongside men once more!” Haldir said, his voice loud and steady so that all the assembled humans could hear. Annamir, finally, felt a little hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	16. And so it Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the battle of Helm’s Deep finally begins! This is my favourite section of all that I have written! It’s about 50% Monty Python references.

The night air was cold and damp, a distant rumbling portending an oncoming storm. Nelwen hugged herself as she stood on the parapet of the Deeping Wall and willed herself to stop shivering. She’d decided to forego her cloak, worrying it would get in the way and limit her movements once the fighting began. From her side, Haldir put his arm around her shoulders, rubbed up and down her arm in an effort to force some warmth into her. She smiled at the gesture, briefly nudged his shoulder with her forehead, “diola lle.”

From her other side, Annamir groused.

The first sign of Saruman’s forces had appeared just as the sun set, a colossal blackness far in the distance. An hour later, the Uruk-hai were still marching across the wide valley gorge towards Helm’s Deep. The battlements thrummed with anticipation and Annamir bridled with impatience. “For fuck’s sake, what’s taking them so long?! Can’t they just hurry up and get here so I can kill them?!”

Aragorn paced the full length of the Deeping Wall, barking out instructions to the mainly elven force assembled on the parapet and below in the yard. His voice thundered with authority, rang out clear and strong; Nelwen was suddenly reminded that this man was meant to rule over all the kingdoms of men. Each time he passed her position, he gave her shoulder a squeeze, a much-needed gesture of comfort. Throughout her long life she had seen little of war, always ensconced in Rivendell or Lothlorien with her books and her music. And while the last two months had seen her grow in experience and confidence, she still watched the approaching Uruk-hai forces with surmounting trepidation.

A lance of lightening branched across the sky, illuminating the cragged peaks of the Ered Nimrais, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Peering up through her lashes to the black sky, Nelwen blinked as fat drops of rain began to fall upon her upturned face.

“And now it’s fucking raining! Of course it fucking is,” griped Annamir.

“Good,” said Nelwen, smiling good-naturedly, “you could do with a good wash.” Haldir laughed. It was clear from Anna’s glower that she was really appreciating the elf’s presence.

“Shut up, elf - _elves_.”

“You should save your vitriol for our enemies,” chastised Nel.

Annamir arched a brow at Nelwen. “You’re right,” she said with a sly smile. Stepping toward the edge of the parapet, she took a deep breath, leant on the short wall and bellowed into the darkness, “come at me, you cowardly, maggot-ridden dogs! You will forever rue the miserable day you were forged from mud and shit when we decimate your ranks and dismember you limb from limb! The horrors of wars past will seem like jaunts through golden meadows when compared to the horrors we will inflict upon you this night! You will listen to my laughter as you die in a pool of your own piss and blood!”

“What are you doing?” asked Nel.

“I’m taunting.”

“Why? I doubt mere words can undermine the morale of a force ten thousand strong.”

Anna shrugged, “it makes me feel better.”

Nel eyed Anna thoughtfully then, cautiously, stepped to the edge of the parapet, took a deep breath and shouted, "You silly orcs! You don't frighten us, you duck-brained pig-dogs. You think you can intimidate us with your silly hats and your marching around? We will make castanets out of your testicles!"

Anna's brow knitted in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I'm taunting."

"You're doing it wrong."

"I blow my nose at you, you pigeon-headed, qualling cretins with diminutively-sized brains! Your mother is a toad and your father does incongruous things with sheep! Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time!"

“Sheep?!” Annamir exclaimed with an unladylike snort. Nelwen took a deep breath to carry on with her barrage but Anna lifted her hands imploringly, “no! – please stop – you’re, it’s ok, just, just stop.” Anna patted Nel on the shoulder with sympathetic condescension. Nel scrunched her nose at the gesture then burst into laughter. Soon both women were gripped by uproarious laughter, loud and raw, punctuated by occasional snorts and breathy wheezes.

Haldir looked at his friend with slanting eyes, “if this is indeed the best of men and elves, then we are all surely doomed.” But as the women fought to regain their composure through unrelenting laughter, Haldir found himself also chuckling, soft and fond at first, but then breaking into full-throated laughter as well. Soon laughter had spread like a contagion along the entire rampart.

Below them, the orcs shifted uncomfortably; rippling laughter and grown men giggling uncontrollably wasn’t exactly what they had been expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	17. Helm's Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helm's Deep! I love writing battle scenes!

Arrows pierced the air, unremitting, unwavering, until even the lightning above was blocked from vision. So many arrows flew overhead that the very air began to hum, a high-pitched thrum that made ears tingle in anticipation. Down below, the Uruk-hai fell in such great numbers that those at the front still living struggled to clamber over their fallen comrades to inch closer to the battlements.

Annamir would have felt gladdened by the sight of their limp bodies lying face down in the waterlogged mud if she wasn’t so desperate to stab something. Her fingers tingled around the hilt of her long-sword and she shifted her weight from side to side to stop stiffness from settling into her legs as she waited. Still waited.

The elven archers were an astonishing sight. Unperturbed by the downpour, they fired in straight, elegant arches toward the oncoming forces. Even the elves arranged in rows down in the yard seemed to hit their targets with ease despite not being able to see the Uruk-hai on the other side of the Deeping Wall. Why should those pointy-eared ponces get all the fun?

“Ladders!” came Aragorn’s commanding voice, somehow carrying even over the drum of the arrows and the guttural grunts of Saruman’s army. Annamir watched with growing eagerness as she saw the teaming mass of black part in order to let long, metal ladders be carried forward and put in place at the bottom of the Deeping Wall. The ladders were hefted up and the elves put their bows away, pulling out their arming swords instead.

Annamir pivoted her sword in her hands to test the weight; let them come.

As the first Uruk-hai leapt from the nearest ladder, Anna dove forward with a sound that was half snarl and half laugh, driving the tip of her long-sword into the creature's neck with a satisfying crunch. Pulling her sword free, she ducked to avoid an elf's spin and threw her shoulder into another Uruk-hai, forcing him to the ground. She bashed her pommel into his face, heard his skull crack, then sprung to her feet once more. At her side, an Uruk-hai lifted a willowy elf with one bloodied hand, threw him over the Deeping Wall to the crush of beasts below. Annamir's heart went out to the poor man as she heard his screams and she pushed her sword into the base of the Uruk-hai's spine as retribution.

At all times Annamir kept one eye on Nelwen just in case her elven friend found herself in trouble. With the Uruk-hai scaling the Deeping Wall, combat had become close and brutal. Most of the soldiers on the parapet now favoured their swords. But Nelwen felt more comfortable with her bow than her dagger and so she stood among the chaos, her back straight and arms held high in perfect form, firing at remarkable speed into the hordes. Haldir remained close at all times, circling her and slicing at any Uruk-hai that got too close. Armed with dual scimitars, he twisted and spun, ripping at bare flesh with astonishing elegance and speed. She would have loved to stop and study his technique, try to improve her own proficiency through close observation, but she was too busy trying not to die.

Something smashed against Anna’s back and pain bloomed beneath her chainmail as she fell head-first to the floor. Her whole body vibrated when it hit the stones with a dull thwump and her sword spun from her grip. _Bollocks_. She twisted her body to look over her shoulder at what had hit her, not an easy task with her cumbersome armour, and glowered at the Uruk-hai she found looming there. She hooked a leg behind his knee, gave a sharp tug, and he came crashing to the ground beside her. Wasting no time, Annamir surged up to sit astride his chest, picked up a nearby orcish helmet, and smashed its pointed ridge into his face, striking again and again until the twitching stopped. 

Discarding the bloodied helmet, she looked up in search of her wayward sword and smiled to find Aragorn already handing it to her. “Thanks!” she exclaimed unnervingly brightly, taking her sword and giving Aragorn such a hearty pat on the back that he flinched. With a nod and the barest hint of a smile, Aragorn surged past her, jumped onto the low wall of the parapet and pushed a nearby ladder to the ground, crushing dozens of Uruk-hai in one fell swoop.

The sword felt good in her hand, sturdy and cool, if a little slick from orc blood. Holding the sword aloft before her, she gave a mighty howl and ran down the length of the Deeping Wall, ducking and diving, slashing and piercing as she went. When she reached the end of the battlements, she glanced over her shoulder to see a dozen Uruk-hai fall to the floor in her wake. Annamir grinned; this was almost too easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	18. Explosions and Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was tempted to have Nelwen kill the Uruk with the torch so that the bomb wouldn’t go off but that would have been a bit boring. And there’s no way that anyone could have known about Saruman’s weapon and so no way they could have prepared for some way to counter it.

Nelwen stood on the short stone wall that lined the parapet. Poised between two ladders, she fired steadily at the Uruk-hai as they attempted to climb, killing each one in turn and sending them flopping to the ground. Not a single creature had reached the top of either ladder since she’d taken her position and she smiled dimly in perverse satisfaction. Behind her, she felt Haldir’s steady presence.

For many hundreds of years the two elves had been friends, had travelled Middle Earth together and embroiled each other in assorted trouble. Like her, Haldir had always been peculiarly interested in the world beyond the elven kingdoms. They had hiked the length of the Ered Nimrais, raced the Nimrodel river from its source in Hithaeglir to the Anduin Valley, and once gotten so hideously drunk in a filthy tavern in Osgiliath that they’d both signed up with a human treasure-hunting guild (Haldir had a bizarre fascination with unkempt taverns; the filthier the better. He called them authentic). She trusted him completely and his unyielding strength at her back gave her the confidence she needed to face down the Uruk-hai without pause.

They had taken remarkably few casualties, keeping Saruman’s forces largely at bay as they tried to scale their ladders to the Deeping Wall. As long as they maintained their pace, kept pushing the Uruk ladders to the ground, then perhaps this night would end in victory after all.

As if summoned by her growing confidence, a colossal Uruk-hai came running towards the Deeping Wall, blazing torch in hand. The other Uruk-hai parted before him almost reverently, chanting as he passed. Her skin crawled. Something was clearly about to happen and she felt immensely irritated that she didn’t know what.

“Ndengina ta, Bell!” cried Aragorn from somewhere behind her shoulder. Clearly he’d also spotted the mammoth Uruk-hai, shared her unease. “Ndengina ta!” he repeated, more desperate now.

Nel sent arrow after arrow flying towards the enormous beast. A few went wide of their mark, she was nervous and her hands were trembling, but far more were solid hits. Pinned with half a dozen arrows, the Uruk-hai still somehow managed to surge forward until he threw himself with a terrible snarl into the culvert at the base of the Deeping Wall.

A mighty bang, like a clap of thunder erupting from deep beneath the earth, wrenched through the air as the Deeping Wall was torn asunder. Man and stone alike was thrown hundreds of feet into the air, great chunks of wall sent tumbling over the ground like pebbles skipping across a river. Nelwen had never seen anything like it, had never read of any weapon capable of such destruction in all her many years of life.

The force of the blast had sent her tumbling from the wall onto the parapet and as she pulled herself upright, she desperately scoured the battlefield for sign of her friends. Haldir was still behind her, helping his elven brethren to their feet, and she could just make out Annamir sprawled on the parapet, crawling out from under the broken bodies of the fallen Uruk-hai and elves. Finally, she spotted Aragorn, face down in the yard below, heedless of the wave of Uruk-hai now surging through the breached wall. 

Panic gripped her. He was too far away; she would never reach him in time. With a swell of fear, she screamed, “Annamir! Help Aragorn! In the yard!”

Annamir reeled wildly at the sound of her name, evident confusion on her face. The explosion had left her dazed, her limbs stinging from when her body had slapped into the stone parapet following her brief moment of flight. “Help Aragorn! In the yard!” repeated Nelwen, now sprinting the length of the Deeping Wall as fast as she could with Uruk-hai and debris blocking her way. With comprehension finally dawning, Annamir turned her eyes towards the breach in the wall, the surging Uruk forces, and Aragorn’s prone form.

Annamir flung herself carelessly from the wall, landing bonelessly on the Uruk-hai below. They crumbled beneath her weight and Anna gave them each a firm stab to ensure that none ever rose again from the ground. Lashing out wildly with her long-sword, urgency impairing her usual finesse, Anna forced her way through the throng of Uruk-hai until she could pull Aragorn from the mud by the scruff of his collar. At first Aragorn tried to push her off, clearly not recognising that she was his friend come to help, but once recognition had set in, he held tightly on to her shoulder as the two rangers waded through the muck towards the elven soldiers assembling in ranks. They ducked to avoid a volley of elven arrows then turned, swords at the ready, to charge towards the enemy with the elves at their backs.

From the parapet, Nelwen watched her ranger friends in the yard below with relief. They weren’t dead yet. She watched as they cut through the Uruk-hai with stabbing swords and battering fists. She watched as the elves at their backs fanned out to cover the battlefield with overlapping arcs of their curving blades. She watched as Uruk-hai surged through the breach in the Deeping Wall, snarling and spitting, and put an arrow through the neck of each one in turn.

“Fall back to the Keep! Aragorn! Get your men out of there!” came the voice of King Theoden, echoing down from the Hornburg. Aragorn translated Theoden’s words into Sindarin and bellowed the retreat order to the elves.

Nelwen turned from her position on the parapet to check that Haldir had heard the signal for retreat only to watch with agonising horror as an Uruk-hai brought down his broad-sword upon his back. Haldir made no sound, only stumbled to his knees, eyes wide with shock and startling pain. With a piercing cry, Nel pulled an arrow from her quiver and sent it flying into the eye-slit of the Uruk-hai’s helmet. She ran forward, heedless of the retreating elves or the Uruk-hai surging through the breach behind her, and skidded to her knees in time to catch Haldir as he slumped to the floor.

She cradled him in her arms, felt his back grow warm as his blood seeped into his armour. He looked at her with unfocused eyes, the hilt of his sword dropping from senseless, shaking fingers. His mouth opened and closed as if trying to speak but no sound came out other than a wheeze followed by a watery gurgle. The sound made her stomach roil; made her insides twist and seize. Rainwater slicked his skin and she gently used the pads of her thumbs to clean away the blood and grime from his face. “Dartha, mellonamin,” she whispered, again and again, like an incantation. As if through sheer will alone she could conjour the magic to heal him. Finally, his eyes became focused, held her gaze steadily, determinedly. With more strength than he could spare, he rasped, “tenna' ento lye omenta,” and she noticed with alarm that his teeth were stained with blood, that it oozed from his lips and down his chin.

And then he went still, and there was only the rain and the sound of her own ragged breathing.

Her keening wail was more animal than elf. It tore from her throat, fierce and sorrowful, only growing in agony as it reverberated between the valley walls. Tears burnt down her cheeks and she gasped for breath between sobs. Carefully, reverently, she lowered Haldir to the ground, took a moment to close his eyes and smooth his hair. The din of battle, so distant before, finally came into sharp focus and the fear of her own imminent death finally overwhelmed her grief. Forcing her trembling limbs upright, she surveyed the battlements, noting with distant alarm that most of her allies had already retreated, that the parapet and yard now teemed with Uruk-hai. She would have to fight her way to the Hornburg.

She’d heard Annamir speak of bloodlust, of the violent roar of battle that grips you when faced with impossible odds and almost certain death. Nelwen had always thought Annamir was just being her usual dramatic self. Now her blood felt like fire in her veins and her whole body thrummed with heat. She returned her bow to her back, unsheathed her dagger instead. A bow was too distant, too impersonal; she wanted to feel flesh yield beneath her blade, wanted to feel blood seep through her fingers.

With a feral cry, she somersaulted from the parapet, landed with a delicate thud on the back of an Uruk-hai, drove her dagger down into his head and rode the foul beast until he crumpled to the ground. Then she was up again, ramming her shoulder into a nearby Uruk-hai, hooking her blade beneath his chin and pulling forward with such force that his jaw cracked loose. She dove as steel rang overhead, drove her dagger into a fleshy foot before reeling upwards and jabbing her weapon into an exposed neck. She charged for the stairs that led from the yard to the Hornburg, clearing a path with well-aimed kicks and wide sweeps of her dagger, leaping over the heaping remains of the dead with an elven grace untempered even by grief. Saruman had already taken her friend; she would not give him the satisfaction of taking her as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the whole of point of this retelling was that no one died but having established that Haldir and Nelwen were friends, I basically had to kill him. Aragorn, Annamir and Gandalf have all seen some pretty terrible stuff; they’ve all experienced loss. But Nelwen really hasn’t. She’s never lost anyone; her understanding of war is purely intellectual, not emotional. So Haldir had to die – so that Nelwen knew the consequences of her failure.
> 
> Aragorn and Annamir are quite stoic in their grief; Nelwen is not.
> 
> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	19. Ill Advised Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annamir does something ill-advised! No one is surprised!

Annamir jabbed at her forehead with careless fingers, frowned when she saw her blood on leather-clad fingertips. “Don’t,” reprimanded Eowyn, kind but firm, “you’ll get dirt in the wound. It could get infected.” Annamir smirked, barely restraining herself from make a snarky comment about infection being the least of her worries when faced with an onslaught of ten thousand orcs; the King's niece looked at her with such earnest concern that Annamir's usual irreverent humour seemed somewhat inappropriate.

They’d been forced to retreat to the Keep, the yard having been overrun by Uruk-hai. The great teaming mass surged forwards through the breach in the Deeping Wall, covering the earth like a swarm of locusts. But while the retreat had hampered morale, the situation was not all dire. Most of the elven soldiers still stood, and the men and women of Rohan were still fresh, having remained safely ensconced in the keep while the elves fought below. Annamir felt hopeful.

Nelwen seemed less so. 

Annamir had seen Haldir fall, had certainly heard Nelwen wail for his loss. Now she watched her elven friend with growing concern. Nel stood at the edge of the Keep’s ramparts firing arrow after arrow into the yard below, her arms trembling as she held her bow aloft. Her face was contorted into an angry scowl but the tears on her cheeks betrayed her inner sorrow. Normally she wouldn’t worry about her friend; grief was, after all, a normal part of life. But battle was raging all around them and at times like these, grief got one killed. 

At the sound of an alarming crunch from down below, Anna tore her eyes from her elven friend and peered over the walls of the Keep to the causeway. The Uruk-hai had brought forward a battering ram and were now ferociously pounding on the door. From the way the wood groaned, Anna knew it wouldn’t be long before the great door to the Keep gave way.

Fuck.

“To the gate! We need reinforcements to the gate!” came Theoden’s cry and Anna turned just in time to see the King fly down the ramparts.

“Nelly!” cried out Anna, “At the gate! We need more archers at the gate!”

Nel turned at the sound of her name, nodded her assent, then conveyed Anna’s orders to the elves around her. The Rohirrim archers were steady but haphazard and the elven reinforcements bolstered their strength significantly. Arrows from human and elf alike bombarded the causeway, and the felled Uruk-hai tumbled limp and heavy from the ramp onto their kin below. But for every Uruk-hai that fell, another immediately took its place, taking up position along the battering ram and continuing the assault against the wooden gate to the Keep.

Annamir could see that the arrows wouldn’t be enough, that something needed to be done to push back the wave of beasts and give the men below time to reinforce the gate. Seeing that the situation was grave, Anna did what she always did and devised a plan as implausible as it was ill-advised.

Pulling the elven rope that Galadriel had gifted her from a pouch on her belt, she tied one end to the Keep’s parapet and looped the other around her belt. “What are you doing?” asked Eowyn, who watched Annamir with a mix of confusion and intrigue. 

“Something foolish,” Anna replied, with unnerving enthusiasm. She gave Eowyn a wolfish grin, “want to come with me?”

Eowyn looked unconvinced.

“Come on – it will make a bloody fantastic story,” cajoled Annamir, reaching out enticingly with her hand.

Reluctance briefly warred with willingness. But in the end Eowyn took Anna’s hand, letting out a startled yelp as Anna pulled her forward and manhandled her onto her back. With Eowyn firmly in place, Annamir held on to the rope and started gingerly abseiling down the wall of the Keep.

“What are you _doing_?!” shouted Nelwen as she spotted Annamir descending towards the causeway.

“Cover me!” was Anna’s cheerful reply. Nelwen swore colourfully but somehow managed to increase her rate of fire. 

Anna let go of the rope when they were still a few feet from the causeway and the two women thumped into the Uruk-hai below. With a snarl, Anna was immediately on her feet, stabbing and gouging at anyone foolish enough to come too near. Eowyn was a little slower to react, stumbling clumsily to her feet before pulling her sword free and swinging it in wide, lethal arcs. The two women fought back-to-back; their different fighting styles complimenting each other well. While Eowyn swung her spatha to slice at knees and necks, Annamir darted forwards to pierce and gore. Slowly, persistently, they gained ground upon the causeway, pushing back the Uruk-hai from the gate.

“Annamir! Eowyn! Get out of there!” came Theoden’s voice and Anna glanced over her shoulder in time to see his face disappear behind a sturdy plank. The gate had been repaired, the barricade put in place, and Annamir felt a rush of relief that she’d succeeded in buying them enough time. She grabbed Eowyn’s hand, tugged her to the rope, and the women started unsteadily climbing up the Keep’s wall, greatly relieved when Aragorn aided their assent by pulling their rope up with all the strength he could muster. Her feet safely planted on the ramparts, Annamir looked below at the Uruk-hai still pushing against the gate and felt smug satisfaction washing over her; funny how her most ill-advised plans tended to be the most successful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	20. Battlefield Acrobatics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written as a kind of mirror to the previous section – two friends doing two ill-advised things simultaneously. This is what Nelwen was up to while Annamir was hacking at Uruk-hai on the causeway.

Her stupid _fucking_ friend was about to get herself _fucking_ killed!

Nelwen stood upon the high ramparts of the Keep, watched as her imbecile of a friend descended the walls to the Uruk-hai below. She couldn’t decide whether she was more enraged with Annamir for her recklessness or gripped with utter terror at the prospect of losing another friend so shortly after having lost Haldir. Flooded with grief, Nel was only just keeping herself together. She fired her arrows into the black mass of Uruk-hai, unrelenting, unwavering, as if afraid that if she paused for a moment, her anguish would overpower her, rendering her immobile and incapable of helping her friends. 

She’d already failed one friend; she wouldn’t fail anyone else.

Her eyes were unwillingly drawn from her friend on the causeway when she noticed the Uruk-hai below parting to let long, thick ladders come forward. Scanning the teaming throng of Saruman’s army, she spied a number of ballistas being assembled.

“Aragorn! Ballistas!” she screamed, pointing vigourously, “there and there! They’re bringing ladders forward!”

The ranger rushed to the edge of the Keep’s high rampart, looked down at the siege engines being armed. With a keening thrum, the first bolt came flying through the air, smacking into the walls of the Hornburg with a thunderous pound. The bolt’s barbed arms embedded themselves soundly in the solid stone, like a parasite buried beneath skin. The first bolt was followed by five more, each attached to ropes that the Uruk-hai used to pull hulking metal ladders into place. 

“The ropes!” cried Aragorn, “cut the ropes!” 

The men of Rohan surged forwards, hacking at the ropes with their spathas, cutting the lines and sending the ladders crashing down. Nel, too, with her dagger poised, leapt onto the short wall circling the rampart to hack determinedly at the ropes. The metal splintered and twisted as it hit the ground, crushing the Uruk-hai unfortunate enough to be standing below. But still the ballistas fired and more ladders ascended from the waves of black.

One ladder finally fell into place against the towering walls of the Hornburg, curved arms falling to hook around the rampart’s short wall and hold the ladder in place. Uruk-hai surged from the ladder onto the awaiting swords of both men and elves, snarling as they died, their blood coating the stones. But as long as the ladder remained in place, the Uruk-hai would not stop coming. Watching with horror as the Uruk-hai surged into the Hornburg, Nel decided, against her better judgement, to do something ill-advised.

With quick, efficient bursts, Nelwen shot the Uruk-hai from the top half of the ladder. “Cover me!” she shouted at no-one in particular, before jumping from the rampart onto the ladder. Her landing was less elegant than expected; the metal was slick from blood and rainwater and her small hands struggled to gain purchase. Clinging onto the ladder with unsteady hands, her heart pounding loudly in her ears, she scrabbled up the rungs. When she reached the top of the ladder, she pulled her dagger from its sheath and forced the tip of the blade into one of the bolts that attached the ladder to the curved claws that kept it fixed to the wall.

She could hear the Uruk-hai ascending the ladder behind her, feel the vibrations through the metal as their bodies lumbered closer. She tried to hurry but her fingers were cold and numb, the bolts rusted and stiff. One bolt popped free. 

She managed to force a faint approximation of a smile before moving on to the next. An arrow whizzed passed her ear; too close. It clanged ineffectually against the wall by her head then dropped out of sight. She had to quicken her pace. The second bolt popped loose.

A volley of elven arrows flew passed her from overhead and she risked a quick look over her shoulder to see a number of Uruk-hai tumble from only a few rungs below her. With a firm tug and a strangled whimper, the third bolt came loose.

Suddenly she felt something on her leg and she looked down to see a thick, gnarled hand wrapped around her ankle. The mottled, ashen face of an Uruk-hai grinned up at her. She brought her free foot down repeatedly on the creature’s head, kicking again and again in sharp, hard thrusts until the Uruk’s face seemed to fold in on itself. Deprived of life, the thick body fell nerveless down the ladder, ricocheting off his fellow Uruk-hai and pulling them from the ladder as well. Nelwen had no time to revel in their misfortune. She tugged at her dagger, twisted the blade with all the strength she could muster.

At last the final bolt tumbled free.

She swung her body over the top of the ladder, held firmly to the top rung and pushed with her feet firmly against the rampart’s short wall. Too heavy for her strength alone, she called out to the humans and elves on the rampart. Others came to her aide, reaching over the stone wall to push at the ladder. At last the ladder came away from the side of the Hornburg, paused momentarily upright, then started falling back to the ground.

Nelwen still clung to the top rung and her stomach lurched as the ladder pitched forward. She glanced over her shoulder to judge the distance to the wall then sheathed her dagger before pulling a steadying breath. In a remarkable display of acrobatic finesse, Nel backflipped from the ladder, soaring through the air before landing on the rampart with a soft thump. The humans nearby gave a raucous cheer and Nelwen was surprised to find a smile upon her face, crooked and genuine. Perhaps there was some merit to be found in ill-advised plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	21. Look to the East

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end! I always thought the ‘ride out into the orc hordes’ thing was stupid.

Still the Keep stood.

A lone island in a sea of blackness, the Uruk-hai had yet to breach the stronghold of the Hornburg. The ladders hefted skyward to scale the great walls had all been sent tumbling down, landing on the Uruks below in curling, groaning heaps. And the wooden gate, though heavily patched and reinforced, was still keeping Saruman’s forces at bay.

Annamir stood in the narrow courtyard behind the gate, tying a bandage haphazardly around a bloody gash on her forearm. The Uruk-hai had been lucky, had found yielding flesh between her leather vambrace and chainmail shirt. His luck hadn’t lasted; she’d pushed her long-sword into the juncture between neck and shoulder, twisted the blade to make sure it stung. She listened to the wooden gate groaning as she affixed the bandage, heard the timber splinter with high-pitched pops. It wouldn’t be long now.

Hopping to her feet from her perch on a low step, she squared her shoulders and shifted her weight to the pads of her feet, pivoting her sword in her hand to prepare for the imminent onslaught. To her side stood Aragorn, still and sturdy, and she flashed him a maniacal grin, chuckling softly to herself when he frowned and rolled his eyes in response. To her other side stood Theoden and she threw him a deranged smile as well, just to piss him off. She knew that Eowyn stood higher up the Keep, closer to the Great Hall where it was safer, and that Nelwen was on the ramparts above the gateway, raining death upon their enemies from above. She drew comfort and strength from the knowledge that her friends were close at hand. 

At last the planks of the great gate came shattering forward and there was a strange lull, a momentary stillness, before the hulking black bodies came rampaging through the opening. Aragorn stood his ground, let the Uruk-hai come to him, but Anna sprung forward, spiraling and stabbing into the chaos. The noise was deafening, reverberating off the walls in the narrow courtyard until all that could be heard was steel hitting steel and the pitiable cries of the dying.

Anna was tired. So very, very tired. Every bone in her body felt like it had been shattered into a thousand splinters then hastily put together again. Every muscle begged for her to stop moving. It had been so long since she’d eaten or slept, her body propelled itself forward through sheer stubbornness alone. She could barely distinguish individual bodies anymore, could barely identify limb from limb, just stabbed at whatever black flesh she could see peaking out from between dull metal. If she heard a wretched cry, she moved on, if not, she pushed a little deeper. Beast after beast fell before her but still they came; Annamir began to wonder just how long she could continue.

“We cannot sustain this. We cannot keep them back!” cried Theoden from somewhere to Annamir’s side. She stole a quick glance in his direction and was alarmed to see that he looked as awful as she felt; no one would last much longer.

“You said this fortress would never fall as long as your men defended it!” replied Aragorn, fighting back-to-back with the King.

“What can men do in the face of suck reckless hate?”

Aragorn turned to face Theoden, his eyes alight with sudden inspiration. “Charge forward and meet them!”

“For death and glory?” asked the King.

“For Rohan,” corrected Aragorn.

“For Rohan” repeated the King, tentative at first, then again with more gusto, “for Rohan!”

The rallying cry spread through the courtyard, shouted by man and elf alike, and the soldiers surged forwards. With renewed fervour the soldiers fought back, pushing the Uruk-hai through the gate and onto the causeway. Stepping out of the claustrophobic Keep and onto the stone ramp, Annamir was surprised to see the sun cresting over the walls of the valley.

Dimly, she remembered Gandalf’s words before he’d left Edoras. _Look to the East_.

Anna scanned the horizon for any sign of Gandalf's return, for any sign that reinforcements had come. A flutter of hope skittered in the pit of her stomach as she played his parting words over and over in her head; in all their years of foolhardy adventuring, Gandalf had never let her down and she knew, _she knew_ , that he would come to their aide as promised. Then she noticed a white-clad figure atop the valley walls, haloed by the rising sun, and relief surged through limbs made stiff and clumsy from fatigue. As she watched him, he held aloft his staff, light bursting forth, and started galloping down the side of the valley with such speed he could have outrun death itself. Close on his heels came the mighty Riders of Rohan, the great army of horsemasters sweeping down the valley like a tidal wave.

The Uruk-hai turned to reform their ranks in the face of this new fighting force, giving sweet respite to the exhausted soldiers still keeping the forces back on the causeway. The sun shone bright now behind Eomer and his men as they rode towards Helm’s Deep, giving them an otherworldly appearance, hot and flaming, as if the very embodiment of wrath had been unleashed. The Uruk-hai faltered at the sight, their lines becoming jumbled and their pikes lax in their hands.

With a thunderous drum of hoof on armour, the wave of horses broke upon the Uruk front lines. Swords and pikes found purchase in Uruk-hai flesh and the horses drove unrelentingly onward.

“Victory! We have victory!” cried Theoden, his face lit with elation at the sight of his nephew and the Riders of Rohan. Cheers broke out, at first just on the causeway but soon spreading to engulf the entire Keep. While no sight could beat the sight of a Gondorian charge, silver armour gleaming and deep blue banners dancing overhead, Annamir conceded that the Riders of Rohan did look rather grand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	22. Haldir's Final Lookout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one – Haldir is put to rest.

A sorrowful melody curled through the air, soft and sweeping, darkly drifting. A melody so old that not even the elves knew from where it originated. The mournful sound throbbed and ached until the very air was thick with notes of grief. It was hard to sing with the iron grip of loss squeezing at her windpipe, stealing each breath, but Nelwen was determined to finish, determined to give her dear friend the proper farewell.

Following the battle, Nelwen had managed to keep herself incessantly occupied. She had distributed food and water to the newly arrived Riders of Rohan. She had carried the injured to the Great Hall of the Hornburg where the healers could see to them. She had helped with the funeral preparations for the dead, ensuring that the elves were laid to rest according to the rites of her people. For days she had laboured without rest, successfully burying her grief under the bustle of activity.

But now she could hide from her sorrow no more. High on a bluff in the Ered Nimrais, she stood beside her friend’s final resting place and sang her song of remembrance, telling herself that it was the battering wind that made her eyes sting, not the tears. Haldir had always liked the Ered Nimrais. From high up the mountain range you could see all across Anfalas to the sun-drenched coast and the Great Sea Belegaer beyond. Once a great kingdom of elves, Anfalas’s green rolling hills were dotted with ancient havens, elegant even in their decrepitude. On clear days you could even make out the long abandoned elven haven of Edhellond, its harbour carved out of white stone.

It seemed fitting that this would be his last lookout.

Her song complete, Nelwen whispered a prayer over the burial mound before turning to her friends behind her. Annamir, Aragorn and Eowyn stood with solemn faces and bent backs, huddling close together to brace against the wind. Looking at her companions, she was surprised at how overwhelmingly _fond_ she felt.

Immediately after the battle, Aragorn had helped her find Haldir's body, partially buried beneath the jumbled mass of Uruk and elven limbs, and carry him back to the Keep. Eowyn had helped her clean him and prepare him for burial, and then all four had carried him through the winding footpaths of the mountain range to the picturesque bluff. Annamir had scouted out the spot a few days earlier, positioned on a steep slope that gave a splendid view of both sides of the mountain range, facing east to catch the morning sun. 

Aragorn held out his arm to her and she gladly took it, cradling her hand in the nook of his elbow. The four of them started making their way down the mountainside, silently at first until Nelwen asked no one in particular, “did I ever tell you of the time Haldir swam Gulf of Lhun?”

“No” replied Aragorn, arching a curious brow.

“It was a bet,” explained Nelwen with the barest whisper of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. And so she told them of how she and Haldir had set out from Lothlorien with the intention of visiting all the elven harbours of Eriador. She told them of the argument they’d had while camping in the ruins of Harlond haven as to the quickest route to Mithlond. She told them of the ensuing race, with Haldir swimming the gulf while Nelwen ran along the coast with feet made swift by the determination to win. And she told them, with an irrepressible giggle, of Haldir, head held high, strolling through the crowded port of Mithlond in nothing but his sodden underclothes. She couldn’t remember who’d won the bet, but she could remember his laughter, untempered by freezing water or judgemental stares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	23. The Meduseld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crazy party times! Things are about to get widely divergent from the Tolkien version (as if things are not divergent enough already!)
> 
> This chapter is a little unnerving for me because, reading it through, I think I characterise myself with freaky accuracy. First, the way my appearance affects my mood. Second, when I accidentally offend someone when attempting to give them helpful advice. Third, when I’m nice to someone and let them flatter me because I need the confidence boost. None are particularly attractive traits of mine but there we go! A writer should be honest!

Nelwen was clean. Gloriously, fragrantly, resplendently clean. Sweeping through the Feasting Hall of the Meduseld, with skirts of buttercup yellow billowing around her and long, dark curls cascading down her back, Nelwen, after too long in dirt-encrusted leathers, felt like herself again.

The Feasting Hall was alive with music and raucous laughter, with stamping feet and lively chatter. Soldiers who had eaten nothing but watery soup and hard tack for days were contently filling bellies with roast meets, rich cheeses and wine, so much wine. Stories of close calls and daring acts were bandied around with boundless enthusiasm. Stories of friends and family tragically cut down were exchanged with solemn reverence.

While most of the elves had returned to Lothlorien after helping clean up Helm’s Deep, a few had stayed for the return to Edoras and now ate alongside the Rohirrim as honoured guests. Nel found it heartening to see her kin cavorting with the humans, putting aside their usual haughtiness to celebrate their mutual victory.

Nelwen flittered through the Feasting Hall like a hummingbird, moving from table to table to joke and chatter. She discussed human history with Theoden, ruminated on philosophy with Gandalf, and traded farfetched tales of debauchery with Annamir.

Through the crowd, Nelwen spied Eowyn, clad in a dress of early morning blue, handing Aragorn a golden chalice with a coy smile. She beamed at him as he sipped from the cup gingerly, lent close to whisper something into his ear. You didn’t need an elf’s keen eyesight to see that the shieldmaiden was smitten, or that Aragorn did not reciprocate her feelings. With a nod and a few soft words that Nelwen couldn’t make out over the din of jollity, Aragorn turned and made his way through the crowds to where Gandalf sat at the end of the hall. Eowyn watched him wistfully as he went.

Nelwen liked Eowyn well enough. They’d talked a number of hours on the long journeys to and from Helm’s Deep, and Eowyn’s support following Haldir’s death was greatly appreciated. It was therefore with the intent of showing kindness that Nelwen found herself pushing her way through the swarm of revelers to speak to the King’s young niece. “Aragorn is a good man,” she said when she was close enough, her voice quiet so the men nearby wouldn’t hear. Eowyn looked at her with a somewhat bemused expression, uncertain as to the point of her sudden interjection. “He will give you his strength, he will give you his kindness, he will give you his unwavering loyalty – but he cannot give you his love.”

Eowyn ducked her head at Nelwen’s words and she knew from the furrow between her brows, the droop in her lips, that she had upset her.

“You think me foolish for thinking myself worthy of him,” said Eowyn, her voice remarkably steady considering the obvious embarrassment on her face.

“That is not the case at all!” said Nelwen hastily. “I have seen in our short time together that you are a strong and noble woman. But Aragorn’s heart belongs to another and I think too highly of you to let you yearn after a man who will never reciprocate your feelings.”

Unable to think of anything comforting to say, Nelwen awkwardly patted her on the shoulder, gave her a stiff smile. Eowyn simply nodded before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Nelwen stood in the throng, wondered whether she should have stayed silent, wondered whether she had inadvertently caused undue harm. She was so distracted by her thoughts that she didn’t notice the approach of the King’s nephew until she felt him just over her shoulder.

“They must be deep thoughts indeed to make a beautiful woman furrow her brow so,” Eomer said, leaning so close that she could feel his breath stirring against her ear.

In a different time she would have brushed him off with a sneer and a cutting remark about human heavy-breathing. But the horsemaster _had_ saved her life only days before, and she appreciated that he had apparently cleaned himself up somewhat for the evening’s celebration. And so she smiled, complimented the grandeur of the Meduseld, and thanked him for his bravery at Helm’s Deep. A simple inquiry about his horse resulted in a five minute soliloquy about the unquestionable merits of his steed, through which she smiled and nodded without fully listening. She was unused to being so ingratiating with a relative stranger but she had dwelled in grief too much over the last few days and, for one night, she just needed to smile and let idle chat wash over her.

A request for a dance was gladly accepted and Nelwen soon found herself at the centre of the Meduseld’s Feasting Hall, reeling with a medley of human couples. She was unfamiliar with the human dance and though her keen elven eyes were quick to pick up the steps, she was uncharacteristically lacking in finesse as she spun across the stones. Not that anyone seemed to notice; clumsy elven dancing was still far surpassing in elegance compared to the dancing of humans, particularly heavily inebriated humans.

At the end of the dance, Eomer dipped her theatrically and she noticed with amusement that he took a sneaky glimpse of her cleavage. That he’d looked didn’t surprise her; he was not the first drunk man to eye her décolletage appreciatively. But when she glimpsed down herself she was surprised to see that the Ring, usually hidden underneath her tunic or below her neckline, had come to rest on the bodice of her dress, glinting mockingly in the torchlight.

She gave an awkward curtsey, thanked him for the dance, and swiftly bolted from the Hall, pushing through the mass of merrymakers and out onto the green terrace encircling the Meduseld. The slap of cold startled her as she burst through the door into the night air and the sudden quiet unnerved her. She took a moment to marvel at the fact that she, an elf, had come to prefer the carousing of a human feast to gentle solitude. But the quiet made it harder for her to drown out the voices that crowded her head: Gandalf labouring the importance of their quest in solemn tones, Haldir croaking out his dying words through bloodied lips, her own panicked protestations that she was in over her head. And with a roaring whisper cutting across all the other voices, came the Ring, simpering and beckoning.

When Saruman’s army had been marching to destroy the kingdom of Rohan, she had been able to drown out the noise of the Ring, focus instead on survival, on staving off their imminent destruction at the hand’s of the Uruk-hai. But now the adrenaline of battle had ebbed, the fatigue had settled in her bones, and she couldn’t ignore the persistent murmuring anymore.

She took a few steadying breaths, filled her lungs with fresh, cool air, then tucked the Ring inside her dress where it belonged, hidden from view beneath her neckline. With Rohan safe, she could now continue on her long journey to Mordor, to the Ring’s destruction and her own freedom from its burden. But tonight she was going to dance with burly men who smelt vaguely of horse, she was going to smile, and she was going to make bad jokes, and she was going to revel in whatever fleeting joy she could find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


	24. Made Wise by Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing drunk Annamir. 
> 
> I wasn’t originally going to include this section – I was just going to power on to the next one. But I thought an extra chapter of frivolity might be pleasant before heading to Mordor.

Annamir was drunk. Very, _very_ drunk.

She’d passed the stage of drunk where her fingers tingled pleasantly, passed the stage of drunk where her body floundered as if possessed, and was now barrelling headlong into the level of drunk where each limb had a mind of its own and was keen to break away and explore the wonders of Middle Earth on some sort of soul-searching road trip. She gesticulated wildly as she told her stories, lurched comically as she attempted to walk between tables, and fidgeted incessantly when sitting down for any prolonged period of time.

Sitting at a table surrounded by humans and elves she’d never met before but with whom she now felt a deep and profound connection, she regaled them with her most outlandish of tales. She’d already detailed, step-by-step, how she’d defeated the dragon, Sithagong, and was now half-way through telling them of the time she’d defeated a dozen sea-serpents in the Icebay of Forochel (Did she say a dozen? She meant _two_ dozen! Armed with only a dagger! No – _bare handed_!). It was during her rather splendid impersonation of the ferocious sea creatures that she spotted Eowyn hurrying through the jostling crowd of the Feasting Hall, her shoulders hunched and her head bowed in an attempt to hide her obvious upset.

Suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to cheer up her new friend, Annamir hopped from the table (when did she get on the table?) with little dignity but a whole lot of flailing. She threw her beloved audience a salute, earning herself a round of boisterous applause, before bounding after Eowyn to the back of the Hall.

In a dark corner of the Feasting Hall, Anna found Eowyn sitting on a solitary bench, picking intently at her fingernails in what was probably a vain effort to distract herself from her distress. Wordlessly, Annamir plonked herself down next to Eowyn with a crash and an undignified yelp. “Evening,” she slurred brightly. Eowyn looked at her sidelong, her face still wilted with sadness but her eyebrows arched in amusement.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” cajoled Annamir, attempting to nudge Eowyn’s shoulder but elbowing her in the chest instead. Eowyn shook her head, clearly too embarrassed to admit what had caused her such anguish. But Annamir was not one to give up, particularly when inebriated, and she persevered with her light-hearted cajoling until eventually Eowyn relented.

“Nelwen said something that upset me,” confessed Eowyn quietly.

“Well that’s hardly surprising; that preening, pointy-eared ponce with delusions of self-importance,” snarked Annamir with an over-exaggerated eye-roll. “What did she say?”

“She said that Aragorn’s heart belongs to someone else. She implied that my… feelings… for him were obvious. But that they would never be reciprocated.”

“Ah,” sighed Annamir. “Well I hate to admit it but the elf’s probably right. Aragorn has already found love.”

Eowyn shook her head, face flushed and eyes downcast, clearly feeling foolish for having let her emotions run away with her, and so publicly too. “Am I a fool?” she asked with trepidation.

“Yes – absolutely.”

Eowyn’s face twisted in grief but also an edge of anger. “You think me unsuitable for Aragorn’s affections?”

“Yes.”

Her frown deepened, her eyes filled with hurt.

“Wait – no – that’s not what I meant!” clarified Anna, suddenly realising that her words were thoughtlessly causing the young woman more pain. “ _You’re_ bloody fantastic! Aragorn’s a tosser and wholly unworthy of you.”

“I thought Aragorn was your friend.”

“He is! Kind of… Just because someone’s your friend doesn’t mean you don’t want to punch them in the face occasionally. In fact I did! Punch him in the face, that is. Smug bastard deserved it.”

“What did he do?”

“He was rude about my rangering skills?

Eowyn’s expression of grief was replaced with shock, “but you possess so many skills! You ride with confidence, wield a sword like no other. You’re so eminently capable!"

Annamir’s face lit up. “Exactly! That’s what I keep _telling_ people! But they keep being rude about me. Ungrateful toss-pots.”

A tiny little smile had worked its way onto Eowyn’s face and Anna felt her stomach flip at the sight of it (probably not helped by the wine).

“Look I can see that you’re upset,” said Anna as she wrapped her arm around Eowyn’s shoulders. “Do you know what you need to do at a time like this?”

“Punch someone in the face?”

“No – well, yes! But I meant drink; drink copiously! The punching comes later.”

Eowyn laughed; a high, fluttering thing that Anna found immensely endearing. With a slap to her knees, Annamir rose from the bench, grabbed Eowyn’s hand, and pulled the slim blonde helplessly through the crowd towards the barrels of wine. There was drinking to be had! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Two Towers! Now on to Return of the King!
> 
> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).

**Author's Note:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general rambling, please check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


End file.
